


A Call to Motion

by JJK



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Steve Rogers, Ballet, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, But there's not too much angst, Confident Bucky Barnes, Definitely not dating.... Nope, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Halloween, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Inexperienced Steve Rogers, Insecure Steve Rogers, Jock Steve Rogers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Quarterback Steve Rogers, Shy Steve Rogers, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace, Top Bucky Barnes, Typical nfl homophobia, ballet dancer bucky barnes, ish?, oblivious boyfriends, this is mainly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: He was a jock, he did ballet, what more can I say?(aka: Steve's football coach sends him to learn ballet to improve his game, Bucky is the dance TA tasked with teaching him).
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 339
Kudos: 543





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @/buckybarne for this idea on twitter! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> =
> 
> (This chapter is pre-slash, I don't know how long it'll be in total, hopefully only a few chapters, unless it runs away from me again!)

* * *

* * *

_You're movin' without movin'  
And when you move, I'm moved  
You are a call to motion  
There, all of you a verb in perfect view  
**\- Movement, Hozier**_

Steve had never visited the dance studios before. Obviously. To be honest he hadn't even known there _were_ dance studios on campus until his football coach told him he needed to loosen up if they had any chance of making the playoffs, and put him in contact with the dance class TA. Apparently, some ballet lessons would help improve his game, though Steve couldn’t be convinced that this wasn't all part of an elaborate prank; Phillips had always somewhat hated Steve's guts, despite grudgingly making him team captain, and Steve couldn’t shake the feeling this was a punishment of some kind. 

****

He wandered down the dance corridor, which was considerably shabbier and lacking the sleek glossy sheen that enclosed the football locker rooms and training suites, looking for room 107. Contrasting music floated from beneath different doors as he passed, and Steve glanced through the windows for glimpses of the dances being choreographed within; he spied tap in one room, ballroom in another, and some modern, fluid dancing that looked more like contortionism than anything else. Thankfully he wasn't being sent to learn _that_. 

****

Then, near the end of the corridor he came to room piping chaotic classical music through the door. He knew even before he read the plate beside the door that this was the right room. The music was so loud, and the dancers so engrossed, that Steve pushed open the door and leant against the jamb without being noticed.

****

There were two dancers in the room, a man and a woman of equally lithe and athletic build, partnering each other in a dangerous — but highly impressive — set of lifts. The man elevated the female ballerina above his head, appearing to hold her effortlessly as she arched her back and extended her limbs into elegant shapes. Steve was transfixed, he'd never really seen ballet before — not outside of the Degas paintings he'd walked past in the Met — and this was world's away from the soft floaty tulle tutus and dainty elegance of the impressionist oil paintings and pastel sketches; this was sheer power and skill being demonstrated. The trust, the coordination, the athletic ability that must have been required to hold each pose, and then transition fluidly into the next? It was mesmerising. 

****

The man dipped the woman back towards the floor and she twirled (pirouetted? Steve was fairly certain that was a ballet term) away before extending an arm, trusting the man to catch her as she dipped forwards, placing all her weight against him to extend her leg behind her until she was bent into a vertical split, left arm and leg pointing straight up at the ceiling with an impeccable neatness.

****

"Argh." She suddenly gave an angry huff, dropping out of the pose and stomping to turn off the music.

****

"That was better." 

****

"It was shit, Barnes. Don't patronise me." 

****

"It's _getting_ better." He amended.

****

"Only because it was fucking awful to begin with." 

****

Barnes. Steve picked up on the name and zeroed in on the man with renewed interest; Bucky Barnes was who he'd been sent to see. And _fuck_. This definitely was punishment, although probably not the kind Philips had intended it to be. 

****

Barnes was nothing short of beautiful; wearing only form fitting workout leggings that should be illegal with thighs like those, and a tight black tank top that perfectly displayed every dip and swell of his muscled arms. His hair was pulled back in a messy bun at the nap of neck, and Steve found himself transfixed. He may have spent his whole life in locker rooms with naked football players, plenty of whom were built, but none of them carried it as well the man in front of him. None of them had that posture or, Christ, that smile. Steve saw Barnes give the ballerina a wicked smirk as they deteriorated into bickering to each other in what sounded like Russian. 

****

It was almost too much, Steve was very nearly about to turn around and walk away, ready to claim to Philips that he'd been unable to find the dance studio (Philips already thought he was an idiot), when the woman noticed him standing in the doorway and snapped at him. 

****

"What do you want?" She asked, folding her arms and staring Steve up and down with barely concealed judgment. It didn't take a genius to work out that Steve didn't belong there. Anything from his varsity t-shirt to his loose tracksuit trousers, or his backwards baseball cap could have told them that. 

****

"I'm here to see Bucky Barnes? Coach Phillips sent me. He said he'd spoken to you?" Steve all but stammered under the weight of her glare and in the face of Bucky's intimidating attractiveness. 

****

"Ah, Steve!" Bucky grinned at him, and Steve may have been a six-foot, 220-pound quarterback for the college football team, but he practically swooned. "Yeah he mentioned it. Wants me to _loosen you up_?" Bucky smirked as he said it, making it sound dirty, and Steve felt himself flush tomato red. Bucky's grin changed from playful to downright sinful whilst the woman just arched an eyebrow.

****

"Guess I should leave you two boys to it."

****

"I didn't mean to interrupt." Steve insisted, nowhere near ready to be left alone with this man, let alone have _dance_ lessons from him.

****

"No, it's fine I wasn't getting anywhere anyway." She scooped to grab her dance bag from the floor and unhooked her phone from the speakers, pausing to whisper something to Barnes before she left. "Have fun!" She added out loud for Steve's benefit.

****

"Oh, we will." Bucky grinned and Steve's stomach gave a swoop of excited apprehension. 

****

He tramped that feeling down and cleared his throat, offering, “I didn't think it was terrible,” as the ballerina brushed past him and out the door.

****

“It wasn't.” Bucky answered when the ballerina stayed silent, stalking down the corridor without a backward glance. “Nat's just a perfectionist.”

****

Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded in a silent 'oh'. 

****

“Come on in and shut the door.” Bucky instructed. 

****

Steve pushed the door to, and became acutely aware that he and Bucky were now alone. Even more intimidating, was the way Bucky was looking at him with a keen interest, like a kid at Christmas that had a new toy to play with. His gaze swept up and down Steve from head to toe and he raised both eyebrows, flashing Steve a smirk.

****

“That’s what you decided to wear to a dance lesson?”

****

“What?” Steve glanced down at his sneakers, tracksuit trousers and t-shirt, confused. “It’s what I wear to training.” He protested. 

****

“Alright. I’m sure you have some legs under there _somewhere_.” Bucky commented as he headed towards the speaker system set up in the corner. “Take your shoes off, you won’t be able to dance in those. And go stand in front of the mirror.” 

****

Steve gave a soft laugh as he toed-off his sneakers and lined them up neatly by the wall, not sure what to make of Bucky, or what to expect from this lesson. 

****

“Socks too.” Bucky called over his shoulder without looking at Steve.

****

Steve pulled off his socks and balled them up inside his sneakers, left feeling very self-conscious about being barefoot in front of a complete stranger. He wriggled his toes against the wooden flooring that felt decidedly springier than he expected it to. On a whim, he took his hat off too and dropped it beside his shoes, tucking his phone and keys safely inside, then stood in front of the mirror as instructed, hands fidgeting by his sides. He watched Bucky messing around with the music on his phone, a few different songs stopped and started until Bucky seemed happy with his choice, and the studio was filled with soft melodic beats, nothing like the classical music that had been paying before. Bucky set his phone on top of the industrial looking speaker and then made his way over to Steve.

****

He walked gracefully, fluidly, like a lynx. Steve had heard the word ‘slink’ before, but until then he’d never seen anything that truly fitted the description. But, there was no other word for it, Bucky slunk towards him, each footfall carefully placed and barely making a sound on the surprisingly bouncy floors. He adjusted his bun as he made his way over, tucking loose strands back behind his ears and pulling the whole thing tighter. Steve’s eyes were drawn to the movement and to the way Bucky’s muscles flexed as he reached up behind his head.

****

Bucky noticed where Steve was looking and smirked again, making the back of Steve’s neck prickle with embarrassment. God, this was not going to end well. Despite Bucky’s criticisms, Steve was very glad that he’d opted to wear loose tracksuit trousers that morning.

****

“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” Bucky mused. “Touch your toes?”

****

Steve hesitated, feeling foolish and awkward. There was something about Bucky’s gaze that made Steve feel acutely aware of every inch of his body, and compared to Bucky’s easy gracefulness, Steve felt clunky. 

****

“Well, go on.” Bucky gestured at him.

****

Sucking in a deep breath of fortitude, Steve obediently folded himself in half; his calf muscles burned as his fingertips brushed the tops of his bare feet.

****

Bucky just hummed. “Are you warmed up?”

****

Steve took that as an invitation to straighten up again. “Yeah, I went for a run earlier.” He answered, dragging a hand through his hair and resolutely not looking at his reflection in the mirror, he didn’t need to see his own embarrassment reflected back at him.

****

“So, no then.” Bucky’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Run me through your usual stretches?”

****

Bucky folded his arms and cocked his head as Steve blushed his way through all of his usual warm-ups; the calf stretches, lunges, quad stretches, twirling his ankles and then his wrists, before pulling his arms across his chest in one deltoid stretch, followed by the other, and then folding his arms back behind his head to stretch his triceps in turn. Done, he let his arms swing loosely by his side and shrugged. Bucky’s expression betrayed nothing, except maybe dismay. 

****

“That’s it?” He asked. “Jesus, no wonder you’re so rigid. Okay.” He propped his hands on his hips and considered Steve for a moment. 

****

“I’m not rigid,” Steve tried to protest, but Bucky cut him off with a look.

****

“You are. I’ve seen you play.”

****

“You’ve seen me play?” Steve’s voice came out much quieter than he would have liked. 

****

“This is a very football orientated collegiate town,” Bucky intoned, “of course I’ve seen you play. You looked like a tin soldier someone’s wound up and pointed at the football pitch.”

****

Steve frowned. Torn between being flattered that Bucky had paid him so much attention, and annoyed by his observation. 

****

“You play well, don’t get me wrong. But you always seem...stressed.”

****

“It’s a stressful game.” Steve protested.

****

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be carrying all your stress _here_.” Without warning Bucky’s hands were on Steve’s shoulders. Steve tensed immediately. “Relax.” Bucky told him, walking behind Steve and squeezing his trapezius. “If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to get used to me touching you.”

****

Steve swallowed, still tensed, and very aware of Bucky’s hands on his shoulders. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it.” His voice sounded thick and strained. 

****

“My fault.” Bucky stepped back a little, and lifted his hands with an apologetic gesture. “I should have warned you. I forgot, being surrounded by dancers all day, not everyone’s as tactile.” He flashed Steve a smile via their reflections in the mirror. It wasn’t like Steve wasn’t tactile himself, his teammates were forever groping and tackling each other in the locker room, he and Sam would sit squished up together on their small couch to play video games, and Sharon would often seek him out for a hug when she’d had a particularly bad day. Steve didn’t know why this felt so different, but his shoulders were buzzing with the memory of Bucky’s touch. 

****

“Can I touch you?” Bucky asked this time. Steve nodded, feeling an unwanted shiver or apprehension run down his spine. “There’s so much tension in your shoulders,” Bucky’s hands brushed along Steve’s upper back and down the backs of his arms. “And your hips.” His hands grazed over Steve’s waist before coming to rest on his hips. He gave Steve a slight shake before stepping away, taking his hands with him. Steve found himself aching for Bucky’s touch. “I think we should do some proper warm up stretches today, and see where that leaves us.” Bucky decided. Steve nodded, powerless to do anything else. 

****

Bucky’s idea of a warm-up was far more intense than anything Steve had been through before, it felt more like a full body workout. They sat on the floor to start with, stretching their legs forwards and leaning over to grasp their toes, then repeated the same with a leg extended out to the side. Bucky kept his toes flawlessly pointed, tensing all of the muscles in his legs that looked defined even through the opaque black material of his leggings. Steve was mesmerised by each flex and Bucky gave Steve a smirk each time he caught Steve staring — which was more often that Steve cared to admit. There was a limber elegance to Bucky’s movements and he flowed from one stretch into the next with seamless ease, narrating the movements to Steve who tried to copy in a much more cumbersome manner.

****

Steve had never felt wholly at ease in his body. He’d been stick-thin and fragile as a child until puberty hit him with an unprecedented force. Combined with a growth spurt that caused a deep ache in his bones for a full year, Steve found himself suddenly tall. Despite his asthma he’d always loved running, as long as he took his inhaler — usually taking a precautionary dose before each run as well — checked the weather to make sure the pollen count wasn’t too high and that it was neither too hot, nor too cold, nor too humid, he could manage a slow jog around prospect park. After he’d shot up, Steve’s long legs could suddenly take him further and faster, and — as long as he didn’t over exert himself — running actually seemed to help open up his lungs. Then he discovered weight lifting and resistance training, and for the first time in his life he actually started to develop muscle mass. The transformation only took a year or two, and sometimes Steve still felt ill at ease with his ungainly height and strength. It was alright on the football field where you needed that kind of strength and build, where everyone was bulked out with extra padding; but everywhere else he felt like a bull in a china shop. Especially next to someone like Bucky, Steve felt particularly gawky. 

****

When they finished on the floor, Bucky made Steve stand at the barre which was bolted into the mirror at hip height. Steve had to admit his joints did feel looser and more limber after the warm-up, and though he initially scoffed when Bucky told him to prop his foot up on the barre, Steve found he was able to. He couldn’t quite drape himself over said leg to wrap his hands around his foot in the way Bucky could; but he did relish the burn in his quad and groin as he tried to. 

****

“Not bad.” Bucky appraised. “Let’s try some pliés.” 

****

“Some what now?” Steve asked.

****

“Pliés. Bucky demonstrated by bending his knees and sinking to the floor, feet out-turned, back straight, hand resting lighting on the barre, and rising fluidly from it in a move that looked sure to kill Steve’s knees. 

****

“I don’t see that’s going to help me with football.” Steve was dubious. 

****

“Strengthens your legs, improves your balance, and it’ll help you put more trust in your ankles so you don’t carry all of your movement in your hips.” Bucky explained, lifting his leg to kick Steve gently on his thigh. “Trust me.”

****

Steve rolled his eyes and prepared to attempt a ‘plié’, but Bucky sprang to stop him. 

****

“Hold up. Gotta fix your posture first. I’m going to touch you again,” Bucky just about warned this time, planting a hand on Steve’s stomach and another into the small of his back. “Got to tuck your ass in,” he explained, making Steve blush again. Fortunately, Bucky wasn’t looking at Steve’s face and didn’t see the cerise shade that Steve’s cheeks had turned. “Tilt your pelvis forwards, and suck in your abs.” He pressed firmly against Steve’s back, manhandling Steve how he wanted him. Steve's stomach muscles jumped under the strong splay of Bucky’s hand. “There. Remember how that feels, otherwise you’re gonna do your back in when you try to bend.” Bucky’s hands lingered, holding Steve in the correct posture and finally making eye contact with him in the mirror. He was standing so close, Steve could practically feel static thrum between them. Steve closed his eyes and focused on committing the posture to muscle memory, trying to pay more attention to the position of his hips and stomach rather than the firm weight of Bucky’s hands on him. It was difficult not to lean into Bucky’s touch. 

****

Steve had to remind himself of where he was, and _why_ Bucky was touching him: because he had to, not because he wanted to. This was probably a complete waste of Bucky's time, he was being no more tactile than the situation called for and he probably couldn't wait until Steve left the studio so he could get back to real dancing. It didn't matter how flirtatious his smile looked, hadn't Steve seen Bucky flash that same grin at the ballet dancer earlier? It was probably just Bucky’s charismatic personality, it didn't mean he was actually flirting with Steve or that there was any intent behind it.

****

Probably. Steve had always been terrible at realising when someone was flirting with him. Back he was 5'4'' and a 100 pounds soaking wet it had been easier — when no one had tried to flirt with him. Steve could accept that he was no one’s first choice back then, and that in itself gave him a boost of confidence; he had nothing to lose by being bold and straightforward with his desires. Now though, now he just seemed to be a constant disappointment. Everyone wanted him, or _thought_ they wanted him. Whether it was based on his appearance, or the fact that he was the Quarterback, everyone instantly formed expectations of him; they pushed their own ideas of what he should be like, and wanted things from him that he couldn't, or wasn't prepared to give. Whenever he opened his mouth he invariably ruined their image of him. 

****

In the end he stopped seeking people out, it was easier just to let them look, let them imagine, and keep himself to himself. He already had plenty on his plate with his studies and training, and carrying the hopes of — as Bucky had said — a very football oriented collegiate town on his shoulders. More than 80,000 people came to watch each game, he couldn't let them all down. 

****

“You're tensing up again.” Bucky chided. Stop it."

****

“Sorry.” Steve exhaled and tried to remember the good posture Bucky had instilled in him, tilting his pelvis forwards, squeezing his ass to hold it tucked in, and sucking in his abs. 

****

“That's it. Now bend at the knees keeping your back nice and straight. The barre's just for balance, don't grip it.” Bucky instructed. “Feet flat on the floor, like melted butter, don’t roll your ankles.” Steve dipped towards the floor and felt the burn throughout his legs. He wavered slightly near the bottom of the plié and then began to push himself up again. 

****

“Slowly. Nice and steady. Boom. A plié.” Bucky grinned at Steve in the mirror and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now do ten more.”

****

But the time Steve straightened out of the tenth his legs were shaking slightly, and he'd completely revised his opinion about barre work. It was a better workout than any number of leg presses in the gym. 

****

“I've got another class in ten minutes, so we'll have to leave it there.” Bucky sounded genuinely apologetic. “Have you got a couch or a counter at home that’s this height and sturdy?” 

****

Steve glanced at barre and shrugged. “Probably?”

****

“Good, try and do some of the stretches we went through before each football practise, and the _proper_ warm up stretches I gave you.” He gave Steve a smug grin. 

****

Steve dipped his head and smiled at the floor. “Okay.”

****

“I don’t know if you were expecting this to be a regular thing?”

****

Steve glanced back up at Bucky, waiting, more hopeful than he cared to admit; he didn't want this to be the last time he saw Bucky. 

****

“My schedule’s pretty full,”

****

Steve’s shoulders slumped. So, this was it then. It was probably for the best in the long run, before he could seriously get any _ideas_ about anything. “Okay. No problem. Thanks for today anyway.” Steve tried to keep his voice free of the dejection he felt but it obviously didn’t work because Bucky twisted his mouth into a smile.

****

“What I gonna say,” he intoned, “was I can probably squeeze you in on Tuesday evenings, if you’re free?”

****

Steve felt himself perk up.

****

“It’d be late. I have a class until eight.” Bucky warned.

****

“Yeah, I could manage that.”

****

“Yeah? Great. I’ll see you then.” Bucky grinned back. “Oh, and er — try to wear something more appropriate next time?”

****

“Like what?”

****

“You got any leggings?”

****

“No.”

****

“Shorts? It’s impossible to see what’s going on with your legs under there.” He smirked again. “Can’t tell if you’re using proper form or not.”

****

“Probably _not_.” Steve laughed, then added, rather reluctantly. “Yeah, I’ve got shorts.”

****

“Great. I’ll see you on Tuesday then.” Bucky grinned, so bright and warm that it plagued Steve for days until he saw Bucky again. 

****

****

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

****

**  
**

****

The weather was warm for October and no one batted an eye at Steve for wearing shorts to his classes the following Tuesday. The weak sun shone valiantly, pouring through the leafy trees that covered the campus pathways, and Steve found himself tipping his head back to enjoy the last of the good weather. The leaves were all just beginning to turn, some of them already golden and soon they'd all be crunching underfoot. Steve was definitely a summer child, he counted down the days to spring and summer almost religiously, but there was something comforting about fall, a sense of cosiness that permeated the air. Plus, it heralded football season and all of the excitement that came with that. 

****

Steve had lectures until 6 on Tuesdays and tucked himself away in the campus coffee shop with a latte and a grilled cheese, pouring through his textbooks as he waited for 8 o'clock to roll around. He felt jittery as he waited, nervous, excited, and apprehensive all in one. Since their preliminary session Steve hadn't been able to stop thinking about Bucky, about his cool blue eyes, his pretty smirk or the weight of his hands on the small of Steve's back guiding Steve into position. He'd told himself over and over that Bucky was just being professional, and knew that spending a whole hour together was going to be some kind of hell — but Steve had always been somewhat of a glutton for punishment, and he was ready to suffer.

****

Steve's nerves had him crossing campus early and setting himself outside the door to Studio 107 a full fifteen minutes before eight o’clock. He glanced through the window to double check Bucky was in there and then found it difficult to look away. Bucky was leading a small class of 6 freshmen who all looked tiny in comparison. Bucky stood at the head of the class in front of the mirror demonstrating pirouettes, spinning effortlessly on the spot, head whipping round to keep his balance as his body turned beneath him with a soft rise and fall that masked the effort it must take to spin as seamlessly as he was. Steve watched as Bucky neatly slowed to a stop, coming to a rest with his feet out turned, facing the class with a smile.

****

Steve could almost hear Bucky instruct, “now you try”, and one by one his students did the same. A blonde girl with an undercut managed 6 impeccable spins, as did a slight brunette boy. A black boy completed two before he wobbled and fell over laughing whilst the three girls at the back made one turn each and called it a day.

****

At the front, Bucky laughed and gave what Steve assumed were encouraging comments, if the reaction of the class was anything to go by. That seemed to signify the end of the lesson and when they each dropped into cool down stretches or began packing up their bags, Steve slipped away from the window and braced himself on the wall, arms crossed, trying to soothe the nervous fluttering that filled his chest. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall, going through breathing exercises as he waited. When the door was pulled open, Steve bolted back to attention in surprise.

****

“See you all next week.” Bucky called after the class as they filtered from the room. “Miles keep practising your spotting. America, Kate, Kamala, don't forget to send me the music you want to use for your recital.” One of the girls from the back of the class turned to give Bucky a lazy salute before skipping down the hall with the other two. Then Bucky turned to Steve and his grin widened. “Nice shorts.”

****

Already Steve found himself blushing. “Thanks. You too.” Bucky had also donned shorts this week, but his were skin tight and stopped mid-thigh, leaving his strong leg muscles prominently on dismay. Realising he’d underestimated just how much he was going to suffer, Steve pushed himself off the wall and followed Bucky into the studio.

****

“Here, try these on.” Bucky threw a pair of black ballet shoes at Steve. “Should be your size.”

****

Steve caught them automatically and looked down at them, shocked.

****

“They'll be easier to dance in, if this is gonna be a regular thing.” Bucky shrugged.

****

Steve was too surprised to answer more than a belated, mumbled, thanks.

****

“Any music requests?”

****

Steve pulled himself together, reminding himself that this was Bucky's job. Phillips had tasked Bucky to teach him ballet, none of this was from the kindness of his heart. “Um, no. Whatever you want.”

****

“Alright then.” Bucky fiddled with this phone and this time an acoustic guitar filled the air. When the lyrics kicked in, Bucky began to sing along under his breath. Steve couldn't help but smile.

****

He kicked his sneakers off and slipped into the ballet shoes that hugged his feet perfectly. With his loose running shorts and underarmour shirt he still didn't look particularly like he belonged in a ballet studio, but the shoes helped him feel significantly less self-conscious that he had been barefoot.

****

They ran through the same warm up routine as they had before, which Steve had been practising daily at home, much to Sam's delight. Sam seemed to find it amusing that Phillips had sent Steve to learn ballet, and loved to taunt Steve about it (playfully, never intending to actually be rude or mean), and found it hilarious that Steve appropriated all of the furniture in their small off-campus house to act in place of a barre. Sharon and Maria had been less impressed, both chiding him on separate occasions to get his "smelly feet off the table, god, what is wrong with you boys?" 

****

“You've been practising, good.” Bucky smiled at Steve's improved flexibility. “This week I think we'll try some sautés.” 

****

Which were apparently jumps, as Bucky demonstrated; bouncing lightly on the sprung floor, feet pointed into sharp lines at the top of every jump, softening again in time to land. He kept his arms extended out to his sides throughout, fingers gently flexed, thumbs tucked in. His core looked rigid and firm, abs pulled taut beneath the tight material of his tank top, which was pale, grey-blue this week, matching the colour of his eyes. 

****

“How will that help?” Steve asked dubiously, watching Bucky bounce with a controlled ease.

****

“Makes you lighter on your feet.” Bucky promised. He came to a stop and grinned at Steve. 

****

Steve hesitated. He weighed a lot now; all of his strength training had built up a considerable muscle mass and he didn't particularly want to jump. The sprung floor wobbled even when he walked on it; jumping was going to rattle the entire room. 

****

“Feet in first, arms out and jump. Remember to tuck your ass in and tighten your core like we did for the pliés.” 

****

Steve adopted the correct ballet position and tensed, building courage before he jumped. As expected the whole room seemed to shake as he landed. Bucky wasn't bothered by that though, he was more concerned with Steve's form; bending down to correct the angle of Steve’s feet and teaching him how to correctly point his toes with a forceful, commanding grip. 

****

“If it doesn't hurt you're not doing it right.” He commented with a smirk. Steve pointed more forcefully. “There, that’s it.” Bucky grinned up at Steve with both hands pressed firmly to Steve’s out-turned and pointed leg. Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Bucky grinning up through his lashes like that.

****

“Now try again.” Bucky stepped back so Steve could jump, shaking the room each time he landed. “Good. Again. Sauté, sauté, sauté.” Bucky instructed and Steve jumped on command. He forgot to care about how heavy his impact felt, and instead concentrated on the proud look on Bucky’s face. 

****

After that the jumps got more complicated: jumping into 'second' and back to first; jumping from ‘third’, switching feet mid-air. Steve started to get breathless, and before long he had to beg off doing another jump, staggering to fish his inhaler from his backpack. He took a long inhale to work the drugs into his lungs and let his airway open out again. 

****

“You have asthma?” Bucky sounded shocked. 

****

Steve nodded, still sucking on his inhaler, taking another pump before he felt like he could breathe again. 

****

“Shit I didn't know.” Bucky fretted. “You okay?” 

****

Steve took a few deep breaths and nodded. “I will be.” 

****

“How does that work?” 

****

“What?” 

****

“Football, with your asthma? How the hell?” Bucky looked concerned. 

****

Steve continued to breathe deeply and spoke slowly in between his careful, controlled breathing. “I'm careful and I keep this tucked in my sock for emergencies. It's fine, normally. I've got a good team, I don't usually end up doing that much running.” Steve flashed Bucky a shy smile. 

****

“Ever had to use it in a match?”

****

“Not yet.” Steve tucked his inhaler safely back in the front pocket of his backpack and rolled his shoulders. “Okay. Good to go again.”

****

“You sure?” Bucky looked concerned, he stared at Steve with a very anxious expression. 

****

“I’m fine.”

****

“We might leave the sautés there for now. Let’s do some extensions instead, these are great for balance; and they’ll strengthen your leg muscles.” Bucky explained before Steve could ask.

****

“Okay.” 

****

****

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

****

****  


****

By the end of their session Steve could extend his leg forwards, ninety degrees from the floor and hold his balance enough to rise up onto the toes with his standing leg. It had taken an awful lot of manhandling on Bucky’s part to hold Steve’s core tight, to support Steve’s leg and hold it straight as he tried to elevate it. His heart rate was elevated by the time Bucky called it, which had nothing to do with the exercise, and everything to do with Bucky Barnes. 

****

“Same time next Tuesday?” Buck asked lightly.

****

“Uh, yeah.” Steve said because, clearly, he really loved to suffer. The ballet was helping though — no doubts about it, Steve felt like he walked taller after a session with Bucky, and though muscle groups he’d never have cause to use before ached something fierce, his shoulders and hips felt far looser. Since he’d been working through the proper warm-ups at home, he could run further and faster without his legs burning. He was looking forward to getting positive feedback from Phillips at his Wednesday training session. 

****

“Great. Keep the shoes.” Bucky told him when Steve tried to hand them back. “They’re yours. Call it a gift.”

****

“Thank you.”

****

Bucky gave half a shrug and a smile. "Don't mention it." 

****

Steve smiled back and dipped his head to hide how much he was blushing. At least he could use his exhaustion from the lesson as an excuse for why his cheeks were flushed so red.

****

“Make sure you cool down properly when you get home — I’m sure you know that, being an athlete and all.”

****

“Hah, yeah.”

****

“Though you didn’t seem to know about the virtues of a proper warm up,” Bucky ribbed lightly.

****

Steve decided not to answer. “I’m walking home, that’ll stretch my legs out properly.”

****

“Oh yeah? Which way are you headed?”

****

“Up past the library, about fifteen minutes, not too far.”

****

“I’m headed that way too — give me five minutes to lock up and I’ll walk with you?”

****

“Yeah, sure.” Steve laced his sneakers up slowly, watching Bucky pack away the stereo system into a locked cupboard in the corner of the room and pull on a hoodie and dark skinny jeans over his ballet clothes. He swapped out his ballet shoes for a pair of worn combat boots, and just when Steve thought he had a handle on how attractive Bucky was, he went and let his hair down. It fell to his shoulders in soft waves, swept over his forehead in a side parting. He looked absolutely breath-taking. 

****

“Ready to go?” Bucky asked, smiling brightly and Steve may have stammered an answer or he may have just nodded, slacked jawed, like the dopey lovesick fool he was.

****

Bucky flicked off all the lights in the studio and locked the door behind them, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as they sloped down the corridors. A few of the studios were still in use with their different genres of music seeping out under the doors, Bucky sashayed lightly in time with the beat as they passed. Steve dipped his head and flashed a grin at Bucky who gave another of his half shrugs and grinned back. He pushed open the main doors and stepped aside with a flourish that probably had a technical ballet name, as he held the door open for Steve.

****

“Thanks.” Steve laughed as he stepped through, breaking off mid-laugh as the brisk air hit him. Steve zipped his own hoodie up to his chin, wishing he'd been smart enough to bring a pair of trousers to change into as well.

****

“Cold?” 

****

“I'll be fine.” Steve brushed off Bucky’s concern and dipped his chin into the neck of his hoodie, chewing on the zip — before he realised that was a dumb and dorky thing to do, and let it drop from between his teeth. “How long have you been doing ballet?” Steve asked as they wandered down the footpaths that criss-crossed the campus. They were walking much slower than Steve normally would, and Steve didn’t know to read into Bucky’s lack of urgency. 

****

“Since I was three.”

****

“Yeah? You're really good.”

****

“I know.” Bucky grinned, unashamed of his self confidence in a way that Steve found more charming than arrogant. It was certainly a deserved confidence at any rate. 

****

“How did you get into it?”

****

Bucky gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you really wanna know, or are you just asking to make conversation, because I think can think of a few more interesting topics —”

****

“No, I really want to know.” Steve interjected. Why did no one ever think he cared about stuff like that?

****

“My mom signed Becca — my twin sister — up for baby ballet and apparently I threw a tantrum and demanded to go to the lessons too.” Bucky laughed. “I think my mom would have preferred me to be interested in baseball or football or something. But as soon as she realised I was really serious about it, she did everything she could to encourage me.”

****

“Sounds like a great mom.” Steve smiled at Bucky.

****

“Yeah, I guess I'm lucky. She was always front row at my recitals, taught me how to sew my ballet shoes. Becca turned out to be far more interested in sports and mom always laughed that we got some of our wires crossed in the womb.” Bucky joked and glanced at Steve for his reaction — almost like he’d told that joke for Steve’s benefit and expected him to find it hilarious. Steve pushed his mouth into a smile but didn’t laugh, from what he’d seen there was nothing inherently ‘girly’ about ballet. 

****

“What sport does Becca play?” Steve asked instead. 

****

“Soccer. Plays for the Chicago Red Stars — she’s hoping to make the national team next year. She’s _really_ fucking great.”

****

“Yeah? I’ll keep an eye out for her name then.”

****

Bucky snorted. “Like you’d watch women’s soccer.”

****

“Why not? I don’t really watch any soccer,” Steve allowed. “But even I know they’re a damn sight better than our men’s team.”

****

“Not like it’s hard.” Bucky laughed in agreement.

****

“You even think about going pro?”

****

“Dancing you mean?” Bucky asked. 

****

“Yeah.”

****

Bucky shrugged and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “I did for a bit. I was with the New York City Ballet for about a year?” He shook his head. “Hated every minute of it.”

****

“Oh.” That wasn’t what Steve had been expecting to hear at all. “Why? If you don’t mind my asking —”

****

“Too competitive. A really horrible atmosphere. Everyone was always in competition for the roles and — I mean there’s not many great roles for guys anyway — and it got so…. bitchy. I hate that term but there’s no other way to describe the atmosphere.” Bucky sighed. “And — I mean I’ve never been in a locker room or part of a fraternity, so I’m not speaking from experience here — but definitely that kind of chauvinistic, racist, god-awful atmosphere.”

****

“Oh god. I don’t blame you. I hate that aspect of football.” Steve agreed, he’d never imagined ballet would be the same, but maybe it was inevitable when you put a bunch of competitive, confident men in close confines with each other. “We’re lucky here — Phillips runs a tight ship and shuts that kind of crap down before it can really gain traction, but...high school locker rooms were a nightmare. And I dread to think what things might be like if I make it into the league. I don’t…” he sucked in a breath fortifying himself for what he wanted to say next. His sexuality wasn’t exactly a _secret_ but it wasn’t public knowledge either. “I don’t want to hide who I am, but the NFL’s still pretty unwelcoming to LGBT players. I don’t know how many sponsorships I’d be ineligible for if they know I’m bi.” He admitted. 

****

Bucky didn’t react to that any more than a soft hum. “Ballet’s the same.”

****

“Really?”

****

“ _Oh_ yeah.” Bucky laughed. “People think ballet’s all gay and homoerotic, right? It’s really not. Mainstream ballet is awful for it. So conservative. I lost out on so many leads because they knew I was gay. ‘Course they never said it so many words, but it was always heavily implied, and,” he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know whether it’s internalised homophobia, toxic masculinity, or what the hell, but the atmosphere backstage always felt _toxic_ alright.”

****

“I’m sorry.”

****

Bucky shrugged. “It sucks. I lasted almost a year before I quit. Thought about branching out with some guys who wanted to set-up their own modern company, but I lost the drive for it. Came back to school instead. I much prefer teaching anyway and I’m — theoretically — doing a doctorate in applying dance theory to improve sports performance.”

****

“That’s why Phillips put me on to you?” 

****

“Yeah I guess.” Bucky smiled. 

****

“He send you lots of failing sports stars?” Steve flashed a self-deprecating grin.

****

Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes, clearly not a fan of the way Steve talked himself down. “I’ve worked with the track team before — and Becca swears blind it was her early years in ballet that made her so great at footwork now — but I’ve never worked with a football player before, no.”

****

“So, I’m your guinea pig?”

****

“Guess so.” Bucky grinned.

****

“Well it seems to be working. I’ve got training tomorrow so I’ll report back.” Steve promised. 

****

“Roger that.”

****

They lapsed into silence as they followed the tree lined avenue, lit only by sparsely dotted street lamps, that would take them past the library and out onto the residential roads surrounding the campus. 

****

“You know, you’re nothing like I expected you to be.” Bucky commented. 

****

Steve’s shoulders slumped. There it was. He was nothing more than a big disappointment, as usual. He glanced across, trying to read Bucky’s expression in the dim light but he found it unreadable. Steve ground his teeth and tried not to feel disappointed himself. He knew he’d overshared, stupidly thinking Bucky might have been different, that he wouldn’t have minded Steve didn't match up to the expectations everyone else had for him; stupidly, Steve thought they’d been getting along. 

****

“Sorry to disappoint.” Steve ground out. He glanced ahead surveying the roads opening out before them. He could cut left down the crescent and take the long route home if Bucky didn’t want to walk with him anymore. 

****

“Disappoint?” Bucky spluttered, turning to Steve and grabbing his arm. Bucky peered into Steve’s and he must have been able to read his expression better in the gloom than Steve had been able to, because the next words out of his mouth cut right to the heart of Steve’s fears. “You’re not a disappointment, Steve. You’re a revelation.” 

****

Steve swallowed. Not sure how to respond. He worked his jaw a few times, before he managed to get out a small, “What?” Hope flared in his chest that maybe he’d read things all wrong again. 

****

“Steve,” Bucky gave his arm a squeeze. “Don’t you know how wonderful you are?”

****

“I’m really not —” He tried to protest but Bucky brought his other hand to cup Steve’s jaw. 

****

Steve gulped. The orange light spilling from the street lamps didn’t give them much to see by, but Steve could see the glow reflected in Bucky’s eyes, curving over the bow of his lips. Steve’s body thrummed with the want and desire he’d been barely holding back all lesson, and when Bucky parted those lips, just so, Steve let go of the reins and let himself crash forwards in a kiss. Bucky’s hand slipped round the back of Steve’s neck to pull him close and his grip on Steve’s arm pulled their bodies flush. Steve’s arms went to Bucky’s back and he drank him in, drawing them together, lifting Bucky up onto his toes as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and chase pleasure with his tongue. 

****

Bucky moaned into his mouth and Steve remembered himself, shy hesitation crashing through him and he broke away, pulling back with shaky breaths. 

****

“Sorry, I,”

****

“No, no, no. Don’t apologise. C’mere.” Bucky reached for Steve again, tangling his hand in Steve’s hair and kissing him fiercely. Steve melted against Bucky’s solid torso, letting his hands settle on Bucky’s hips and giving himself over to the sensation of Bucky’s tongue, Bucky’s lips, and the fluttering heat of pleasure pooling low in his stomach. Bucky broke away with a breathy sigh. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you first stepped into the studio.” He admitted, curling his fingers in the short strands of hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.

****

“Really?”

****

Bucky nodded, staring at Steve’s lips for a moment like he was unable to meet Steve’s eyes. “Even when I thought you’d be nothing more than a big dumb jock.” 

****

Steve laughed. “I mean, I _am_.” His hands bunched in the loose fabric of Bucky’s hoodie that was scrunched around his hips.

****

“You’re so much more than that.”

****

Steve searched Bucky’s eyes, looking for the lie, looking for the angle he was playing, but he couldn’t find one. “I wanted to kiss you too.” He offered instead of answering. 

****

Bucky gave a delighted hum and swooped in to kiss Steve again. “You know, I live just a couple of streets away, if you wanted to come back? Plenty of other ways I can _loosen you up_ that aren’t practical in a dance studio.” Bucky grinned.

****

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. Part of him desperately wanted to say yes, but his anxiety was spiking; this kiss, this gear change, and all the revelations from this evening had already been a lot to handle. 

****

“I can’t. I have training in the morning. 5am start.” Which was the truth, just not all of the truth. Steve hoped it would be enough. 

****

“Maybe another time, then?” Bucky offered staring deep into Steve’s eyes, completely unabashed or unperturbed. 

****

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve agreed.

****

“I’m still gonna walk home with you.” Bucky added.

****

“I’d hope so.”

****

When Bucky’s hand reached out for Steve’s and clasped it between them as they carried on walking down the leafy avenue, Steve felt part of the anxiety in his chest subside. 

****

They parted ways a few streets beyond the library, Bucky grabbing Steve by the front of his hoodie and pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, before backtracking off the sidewalk and sloping over the road. 

****

“See you next Tuesday?” He called back to Steve. 

****

“Sure thing.” Steve called back with a smile. He watched Bucky disappear into the night and walked the rest of the way home in a daze. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) for the banner artwork! ko's busy creating some more wonderful art to go with this fic, so check back regularly / follow her on tumblr to make sure you don't miss it 💙💙💙


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for your response to chapter one!!! I hope this next part lives up to your expectations 💙💙💙 there's still no smut, but they'll get there eventually - I expect probably another couple of chapters of equal length? (ps, I know very little about American College Football, so please don't hate me if I get anything drastically wrong 😂😂)
> 
> (warning: Brock's a bit of a biphobic/homophobic dick in this chapter, but he'll get his commuppance later).

Steve couldn't shake the memory of Bucky's lips, or the way Bucky's hand had curled into the nape of his neck, the crush of their bodies pressed flush together. He tried to focus on the mountain of homework he had waiting for him when he reached home, but his mind was stuck on that kiss. It was stuck with the glow of the lamplight shining in Bucky's eyes and the smile that had crossed his mouth. _Don't you know how wonderful you are?_ It was all too good to be true and Steve was enchanted by the memory. The problem was, Steve really needed to focus. Tuesdays were the only time he really had to get any college work done; he’d wasted his time earlier in the evening fretting over the ballet lesson and hadn’t even made at start on his reading yet.

There was meant to be a rule that limited training time to 20 hours a week, but of course the college got around that by not classifying the team meetings, the daily strength and conditioning workouts, reviewing match films, or time spent with their nutritionists as 'training'. Steve didn't bother adding up every single hour he spent in service to the football team, but he reckoned it could easily clock in at 50 hours a week of training, and that didn’t even factor in match days or travelling; trying to complete a full- time degree on top of that meant he had almost no free time to speak of.

“Steve, you up?” Sharon knocked and waited a cursory moment before barging into his room.

He didn't even glance up from where he was hunched over his textbook, hand in his hands trying to absorb the words rather than just skim over them like he had been doing for the last twenty minutes whilst the memory of Bucky's kiss played in a loop in his head.

“We're watching the Great British Baking Show, wanna join?”

“Can't.”

“Sure? Sam’s watching.”

Steve tugged a hand through his hair and screwed his eyes shut for a minute. “Sam’s not doing a real degree.” He muttered.

“I heard that!” Sam shouted from the hallway as he hurried down the stairs.

Sighing, Steve tipped his head back and squinted at Sharon upside down.

“You’re not doing any work anyway.” She accused him.

“Fine.” If he took his text book downstairs he could at least _pretend_ he was being productive.

“Nice of you to join us.” Maria smirked at Steve when he squished in beside her and Sam on the sofa, whilst Sharon curled up on the floor, leaning back against their legs. Steve kept his book open in his lap, but he didn’t end up reading anything as they watched hapless British people flap and fret about their bakes which almost always turned out perfect, no matter how hopeless things had looked during the baking process. The way the camera panned across the chocolaty, sugary, cream filled delights was like a love letter to food. Food, specifically, that Steve couldn't eat. His stomach growled half way through the episode, and his nightly protein filled, grass flavoured smoothie didn't really match up to the treats on screen when he went to fetch it from the fridge.

Steve loved football. But sometimes it was the bane of his life.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

5am came around far too early. Steve dismissed his alarm with a groan and flopped back into bed for a long minute before kicking his way out from under the sheets and going for his usual 5 mile run with Sam. The sun rose behind them as they jogged, setting the campus aglow with a soft lavender light that gave way to pale daylight by the time they checked into the training centre. They joined the team for a protein heavy breakfast and morning briefing, which was rowdy and chaotic as always, before they got underway with a full squad, padded training session that would last all morning. 

“Hey there twinkle toes.” Rumlow greeted Steve with a smirk as they tapped up in the locker room.

Steve scowled back. “What is your problem?”

“I don't have a problem, _Cap_.” He said the word with distaste. “Heard you were spotted in the dance studios yesterday.”

“And what of it?”

Rumlow shrugged, with a dramatic flair that told Steve he was building up to an insult. One that was probably going to use all three of his brain cells to put together. Rumlow was Defensive Captain; one the best middle linebackers Steve had ever played with and a true force to be reckoned with on the pitch, but everywhere else he was generally a nuisance: an awful combination of arrogant and ignorant, with a loyal following. 

“Always knew tutus were more your style. Fairy.” Rumlow spat at Steve. 

“Man, shut the hell up.” Sam leapt to Steve's defence before Steve even had to start thinking of a retort. “What the hell is your problem?”

Rumlow looked like he was about to square up to Sam when Phillips and the rest of the coaches barged into the locker room to round everyone up and chivvy them out onto the field. Rumlow snuck off with another smirk, but without another word. 

“Dude’s been hit in the head one too many times.” Sam muttered under his breath. “Trying to rile you up before a practise? Doesn't he know we're on the same goddamn team?”

“I don't think he cares.” Steve donned the last of his uniform and grabbed his helmet from the bench beside him. “Neither do I.” Steve assured Sam as they jogged out towards the field. He had far more important things to worry about that than the opinion of small-minded people like Brock Rumlow.

“Rogers!” Phillips called for Steve as he ran out of the dugout, Steve let Sam run on ahead as he doubled back to where Philips was sitting with his assistant coaches on the side-lines.

“Sir?”

“You hook up with Barnes yet?”

Steve felt his cheeks turn scarlet under his eye black. “What?” 

“Barnes the dance TA, he given you any lessons yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Two.” Steve stammered back, scratching at the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment. Clearly Phillips had meant ‘hook-up’ in the purely logistical sense of ‘made contact with’.

“Great. Let's hope it worked. Show me what you got.” Philips ordered.

“Yes sir.” Steve jogged backwards, giving a lazy salute before he ran out to join Sam in the team huddle, shaking his head as he ran. 

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Training breezed by, and though Steve was sweaty and exhausted when he finally hit the showers, it was undeniable that practise had gone better than usual. Steve felt quicker on his feet, and better balanced when he ducked and spun away from the linebackers to throw a deep pass down to Sam who sprinted towards their endzone. Rumlow’s ‘Strike Team’ were known for being one of the best defensive lines in their conference, and Steve’s offence had wiped the floor with them this session. If they managed to play half as well in the game on Saturday – then there was hope for their season yet. Even Philips had grudgingly praised them at the end, pulling Steve aside and telling him to keep up the dance lessons before swatting him with his clipboard and telling him to get lost. 

Rumlow and his cronies watched the whole thing with jeering snarls which Steve did his best to ignore. As much as his hands twitched with the desire to punch Rumlow in the face, they had an important game on Saturday; starting a brawl before then would only risk injuring players they couldn't afford to lose. Instead Steve was forced to swallow his anger. He’d released some of it during the game, channelling it into powerful throws, and taking delight every time they got the better of Rumlow’s defence, but sometimes Steve envied the linebackers who could charge head first into tackles. He missed the outlet that came from throwing a good punch. Of course, it wasn’t appropriate for him to go starting fights anymore; as their golden boy quarterback Steve couldn’t bring that kind of controversy down on their college. Phillips had been _very_ clear about that when he gave Steve the captaincy.

Steve showered quickly and dressed before he was completely dry, hoping to fit some time in at the library over lunch before he spent all evening reviewing match footage of their upcoming opponents to work out strategies and counter attacks that evening. Those sessions always ran late and Steve still hadn't started the reading for his Thursday morning seminar. There was a study room in the training centre that Steve could use, but he never got a moment of peace and quiet in there, not with Dum Dum cornering him to talk new ideas for plays, or Gabe getting Steve to quiz him on his vocab, Rumlow prowling to provoke him. No, Steve’s best bet was to grab a sandwich from the café on the ground floor of the library and then go and hide himself in the tables buried deep in the stacks where no ever came to look for him.

His plans were quickly derailed, however, when he caught sight of Bucky leaning against the bike racks outside of the training centre. 

“Hi?” Steve said as he approached, plucking at the collar of his shirt, and really wishing he’d spent time to properly dry his hair which was probably a blonde, fluffy mess by now.

Bucky looked up from his phone and beamed. “Hey, Steve.” 

“How are you...? Why are you...? Hi?” Steve stammered, wondering how long Bucky had been waiting for him, and more importantly _why_.

Bucky laughed at him a little and pocketed his phone before answering. “I checked the training schedule online,” Bucky admitted. “I'm only stalking you a little bit.”

“Right.” Steve laughed. 

“Wondered if you wanted to get lunch? I only have half an hour, but,” he shrugged, looking hopeful. 

He was wearing another pair of tight skinny jeans, these ones were ripped at the knees, and he wore a bomber jacket over a t-shirt with a print Steve couldn't quite make out. His hair was piled up in a bun at the crown of his head, with stray tendrils tucked back behind his ears. He looked stunning, and Steve couldn't help but wonder if he had another pair of tight ballet shorts or a leotard or something on underneath. 

“Earth to Steve?” 

“Right. Yeah I'd love to.” He flushed.

Bucky laughed at him again and looped his arm through Steve's, pulling him down the path that would cut across campus to Steve's favourite coffee shop. 

“How was training?”

“Good.” Steve was a little too bewildered by Bucky’s surprise appearance to give a more articulate answer.

“Ballet helping?”

“I think so.” Steve crooked his arm to better accommodate Bucky's and took a moment to enjoy the simple novelty of walking along with someone like that. Apart from holding hands the night before, Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd had a significant other to stroll around with. Not that Bucky was his ‘significant other’; Steve felt heat creeping into his cheeks and burning the tips of his ears as he thought about the prospect of Bucky behind his _boyfriend_. He knew they weren't there yet, god, they'd only kissed once for fuck’s sake, but they might be, one day. 

“Sorry.” Bucky moved to pull his arm away, clearly picking up on Steve's anxiety and misreading it as distress. “Is this not okay?” 

“It's fine. It's fine.” Steve rushed to assure Bucky, and crooked his elbow more to keep Bucky's arm in place. “I'm just overthinking everything.”

“Overthinking what?”

“If this means you’re going to kiss me again.” 

Bucky laughed softly at that. “I think it was _you_ who kissed _me_.” He corrected and Steve's blush deepened. “But I will, if you want.” 

“Not here, but…” Like he'd said the night before, Steve didn't hide who he was, but it wasn't exactly common knowledge; his friends knew, most of the team knew, but not the world at large. Kissing a beautiful boy in the middle of the busiest path across campus would definitely change that, and Steve wasn't sure of he was entirely ready for that yet. “But I do. Want that.”

“Okay.” Bucky gave Steve's arm a squeeze and didn't press the matter. 

There wasn't much room for conversation over lunch as they both had to eat fast, but Bucky kept nudging Steve's feet under the table and leaving his hand palm up on the table for Steve to accidentally brush whenever he reached for his drink. It was lovely, even if Bucky did mock Steve's overtly healthy (and large) double portion of chicken salad – dressing on the side – and a low-fat muffin. 

“Don't ballet dancers have strict diets too?” Steve complained lightly.

“Yeah, but I always eat what I want and pay for it later with an extra-long run.” Bucky shrugged. “Thank god I've got a good metabolism. Good genes.” He laughed. 

“You’ve got good _jeans_ alright.” Steve laughed back and ran his foot up Bucky's denim clad calf. 

Bucky laughed again, eyes crinkling and mouth cracked wide. Steve didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more beautiful. 

“Are you coming to the game on Saturday?” Steve asked, trying to hide how much he hoped Bucky would be there to watch. They were playing at home against a team that had beaten them for the last three years in a row, but Steve was determined to win this year. Maybe his new-found ballet technique would be the key they needed; and it couldn’t hurt if he knew Bucky was cheering in the stands for him.

“Maybe.” Bucky feigned nonchalance with a shrug and an enigmatic smile. 

“Oh, just maybe?”

“Well, there's this hot quarterback who might be able to change my mind.”

“Is that right? What's he got to do?”

“Give me his phone number?”

“I think I can do that.” Steve smiled, already taking out his phone to add Bucky as a contact. He recited his number to Bucky and a text came through immediately:

_Wouldn't miss it for the world._

When Steve glanced back up at Bucky he found himself confronted with a look he'd never seen anyone give him before. He didn't know what to read into it, only that it made him blush something fierce and sparked a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest. 

“I have to go.” Bucky said, sounding rueful. “I’ll text you. And, if I don’t see you before Saturday – break a leg.”

“Break my _leg_? What – why?”

“It means good luck.” Bucky laughed.

“In what universe?!”

“Theatre and ballet. You say it before someone goes on stage.” Bucky kept laughing, giving Steve a look that indicated he thought _Steve_ was the strange one.

“Why?”

“Y’know, I don’t actually have a clue.” Bucky smiled. “What do you say before a game for luck?”

“Good luck?”

“Makes sense.” Bucky conceded with a smile, tucking a stray of hair back behind his ear. “Good luck then. _Don’t_ break a leg.”

“Thanks.” Steve laughed.

Bucky tidied up both his and Steve’s plates and then disappeared with another flash of his charming smile. Steve watched him saunter across the campus from the coffee shop window, following Bucky’s head of messy brown waves until it disappeared from view. He still had thirty minutes before he was due back at practise, but somehow, he didn’t feel like going to the library. He dug his textbook from his backpack and spread it out alongside his notebook on the table, propping his chin on a bent arm as he tried to focus on the words on the page and not the steel blue eyes or charming smirk that kept flashing through his mind. He seriously needed to get his reading done, or he was going to end up spending the entire seminar sitting at the far end of the table, forced to nod along pretend he knew what the hell they were all talking about – like he’d done on a disappointingly frequent basis.

When he enrolled, Steve had been determined that he was at college for his degree as much as he was there to play football. Football might have been a way of securing the scholarships he needed to pay his way – there was no way his ma could afford to pay college tuition for him – but he’d always been keen to get a degree. Unfortunately, he’d seriously underestimated how much time and effort he was expected to dedicate to the football team. It was quite frankly ridiculous, not to mention unfair. There’d be no reprimand for Steve if he turned up on Thursday and openly admitting to not doing the reading, not like there would be for anyone else in the class. In fact, all of his lecturers had pretty much given him a free pass to miss deadlines or skip assignments altogether ‘as long we win the match’. It was Steve’s pride and his own determination that kept him making furious notes for the remainder of his lunch hour before he trudged back to the training centre; ready to pour through hours of footage of every time their opponents had wiped the floor with them in the last three years. He couldn’t help but think something had gone fundamentally wrong in the school system somewhere.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve didn’t see Bucky again before Saturday, but they started texting back and forth on a regular basis – as regular as their hectic schedules would allow anyway. It started with Bucky checking that Steve had done his ‘proper’ warm-up stretches on Thursday morning and, feeling too sleepy to bother coming up with a suitably witty retort, Steve just sent back a mirror selfie of his foot propped up on the bathroom counter; which Bucky responded to with a selfie of himself stretching in the splits on what must have been his living room floor whilst a white cat tried to claw at his socks. After that every message they sent to each other was accompanied by a photo, whether it was just the sign above the training centre door, or the sunset that filled the sky on Bucky’s way home from his Friday evening dance classes.

Steve started looking forward to checking his phone after practise, grinning with delight when he saw a notification from Bucky. It helped that the whole college – and the entire town – was gearing up for the Saturday game and a giddy sense of excitement permeated the air. Everyone was in good spirits and it felt like nothing could dent Steve’s good mood. When Bucky texted Steve a picture of himself and a group of friends – the redhead ballet dancer Steve had met briefly, and another blonde man Steve’s didn’t recognise – decked out in the university colours on their way to tailgate before game, Steve felt like he might just brim over with joy. Even Rumlow and his cronies couldn’t knock the smile off Steve’s face if they tried.

Which they did – making poor attempts at pirouettes when Steve entered the locker room to gear up for the game.

“Not bad. 6/10 for effort. Maybe I should tell Philips we _all_ need dance lessons.” Steve commented as he pushed past. Their faces fell when they saw their taunt failed to have the desired effect.

“Are you lot auditioning to be the flying monkeys in Wicked?” Sam chipped in, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “I want tickets for opening night!” He shouted back over his shoulder and snickered with Steve when the group fell to in-fighting about whose terrible idea that particular taunt had been. “God that lot are dumb.”

“Pity they play so well.” Was Steve’s only comment.

“Makes you re-think this whole college football thing sometimes.”

“You mean like how the hell did they wind up at college?” Steve snorted.

“Exactly.”

Steve spared them one last glance over his shoulder before putting them out of mind and focusing on calming his nerves before the match. He checked his phone one last time before switching it off, and found another selfie from Bucky – this time a solo shot showing off his freshly painted face. He’d pulled his hair back into a half-bun at back of his head with the rest of it falling loose around his shoulders. ‘ _Don’t break a leg!’_ said the caption which brought a great beaming smile to Steve’s face.

“He’s cute.” Sam commented, peering over Steve’s shoulder to sneak a look at the photo.

“Yeah, he is.” Steve blushed back. He saved the photo and sent back a quick _‘Thanks! X’_ before he switched off his phone and began the arduous task of taping up and donning all of his heavy protective padding. 

“Maybe we _do_ all want dance lessons.”

“Shove off. He’s mine.”

“Really?”

Steve’s cheeks burned some more and he cursed his penchant for blushing. “Maybe?”

“Good on you.” Sam grinned, then he dropped his voice to whisper without anyone else overhearing. “I’ve been saying for _months_ what you really need is a good lay.”

“Oi!”

“C’mon man, we live together. I know you’re not getting any. It’s really not a wonder you’re so incredibly…tense…all the time.”

“We are _not_ having the conversation right now.” Steve ignored Sam.

Sam just winked and headed over to the trainer ready to help tape up his ankles with miles and miles of medical tape.

Steve tried to put the thought from his mind, but the more he tried not to think about Bucky’s eyes, his lips, and the way they’d felt against his, or the splay of his hands across Steve’s stomach, his thighs, the way he’d bent down to position Steve’s foot and blinked up from under long, dark lashes, the harder it was to think of anything else.

_Fuck_. Steve screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to count back from a thousand in multiples of three, determined the dispel the unhelpful images from his mind. Maybe he did need to get laid, and the memory of Bucky’s offer was still firmly burned into his mind, but Steve couldn’t afford to think about that right now; not when he was about to be charged down by eleven angry football players.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

There was nothing like the roar of a crowd of an eighty-thousand strong crowd cheering when you stepped out of the tunnel. Nothing like the pounding of adrenaline that carried Steve through the game. Nothing like the high of winning.

The stadium erupted into a tremendous, deafening cheer when the final kick of the game converted the touchdown to give them a winning point. The game had been close, there’d been moments in the third quarter when they’d looked sure to lose, but the home crowd advantage and their collective desperation to end their losing streak was enough to see them through. Steve got swept up in a jostling huddle as the team crushed together to celebrate their victory. He took his helmet off and threw it into the air in triumph, feeling euphoria course through him like lightning.

He had no idea what he said in the post-match interview, too deafened by the jubilant chants still ringing out from the stands to really hear the questions he was being asked, but the reporter was smiling at him so Steve figured he probably hadn’t said anything too controversial or dumb. Luckily, he was normally pretty eloquent when he wasn’t overthinking what he wanted to say. The post-match briefing and press-conference passed in a similar haze and before Steve knew it, Philips was grudgingly praising him for playing well and telling him to pass on his compliments to Barnes for ‘small miracles’.

Steve managed to laugh and promised that he would. Although by the time Bucky caught up with him at the bar in town that all of the players over the age of 21 had gone to celebrate in, the message had gotten a little scrambled in Steve’s mind.

“You’re miraculous!” Steve grinned at Bucky, giving him a sloppy hug and managing to spill half of his vodka lime down Bucky’s front. “Oh Jesus, sorry.” He tried to pat the stain dry with his hand, which did nothing other than make Bucky cackle with laughter at him.

“How many of those have you had?” Bucky asked, taking the glass of out Steve’s hand and propping it safely on the tall table beside them.

Steve tried to count back, but he’d lost track somewhere around his fourth free re-fill courtesy of random fans celebrating with them in the bar. “I dunno, a few?” He shrugged. The brief moment after a victory was the only real they could kick back and cut loose, before training kicked-in for their next game bright and early Monday morning. Steve was determined to enjoy his window of freedom as much as he could, and with Bucky standing before him looking miraculous indeed, Steve was pretty sure he was going to. Bucky’s hair was decidedly frizzier and his face-paint more smudged than it had been in the photo he’d sent earlier, but he was still easily the most attractive person in the room. “C’mon, let’s dance.” There was a section of the bar area free of tables which had been turned into a makeshift dance floor and Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, dragging him into the crush of people before he could protest.

Bucky looked hesitant for a moment before Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and hauled him close.

“People will see.” Bucky warned, speaking close against Steve’s ear. His breath tickled the skin on Steve’s neck and sent a thrill through him, driving him closer towards Bucky.

The dancefloor was crowded, the lights were low, and they were hardly the only couple pressed up close against each other. In other circumstances, Steve might have cared if someone saw, but he was riding the high of a win, buoyed with confidence for a change, and he was fed up of being cautious. Not to mention, the thrum of desire that sparked between him and Bucky like static electricity was too much to resist. The distance between them caused Steve a physical ache, he needed Bucky’s hands on him with an urgency he hadn’t felt before. “I don’t care.” He said honestly. “Please? Dance with me.”

Bucky replied by slipping his hands around Steve’s waist and slowly gyrating their hips in time with the beat. Rather than satisfying the ache beneath Steve’s skin, it only sparked a deeper sense of arousal.

“This isn’t dancing.” Bucky said into Steve’s ear. Steve had to agree, it was more like grinding together whilst music happened to be playing, but what did Bucky expect? For everyone to start doing pliés and sautés in the middle of the dance floor? Or maybe some of those complicated lifts Steve had watched Bucky do with that red-headed ballet dancer. “You’ll have to let me teach you properly sometime.”

“Okay.” Steve breathed in an easy agreement.

His mind was foggy with pleasure and he decided just to let his body take the wheel for a bit, swaying with the melody and gentle nudges and suggestions of movement from Bucky’s hands and hips. After the stresses of the day, all of the split-second decisions he had to make on the playing field it was a relief to let go for a moment. When Bucky span him around and pressed flush against Steve’s back, Steve went easily, arching against him, encouraging Bucky’s hands to move from his hips to his stomach, and gradually up to his pecs. Steve lost track of the music or of how long they danced pressed together. His mind went blissfully blank as he gave himself over to the music, to the warmth of Bucky’s firm body against his back, the feather light kisses Bucky pressed against his neck. The best thing was, Steve knew Bucky wasn’t going to be disappointed when Steve opened his big dumb mouth.

They got another round of drinks at some point, and ended up squashed into a booth with Sam, Dugan, Morita, and the friends Bucky had arrived with. Then, later, everyone was dancing – by which point the lights and the room seemed to be spinning of their own accord. Steve just had glimpses of the rest of the evening; a kiss on the sidewalk; twirling in the middle of an empty street; someone helping him stagger up a flight of stairs; the same someone tucking him under a blanket. The rest was lost to blackness.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve woke with a pounding headache and an unrecognisable kneading sensation on his chest; like someone was a gently poking him with very tiny spikes. He cracked an eye and saw a white fuzzy shape on his chest, which resolved itself into a cat when his hungover brain remembered how to focus his eyes. The cat was sitting on his stomach and pawing at him, keeping stern eye-contact with its very bright blue eyes. Once Steve had figured all of that out, it took another moment for him to realise that he didn’t own a cat, which meant it wasn’t his sofa that he’d passed out on. Just as he was beginning to panic, a welcome and familiar voice cut through the room.

“Alpine! Leave him alone!” Bucky hastened over to Steve and the cat was plucked from Steve’s chest, claws clinging on to the fabric of his t-shirt for just a moment before relenting and letting go. Bucky dropped the cat unceremoniously on the floor, where it landed gracefully on its feet and then immediately flopped over on to its side and began licking a paw, as if to say that’s exactly what it had intended to happen. “Sorry – he doesn’t normally interact with people.” Bucky apologised, dragging a hand through the tangled mess of his hair. He’d changed from the long-sleeved navy t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans he’d been wearing at the bar the night before, into a cropped NASA t-shirt that displayed a glorious portion of his midriff, over bright green boxer briefs patterned with little avocados and love hearts. Steve blinked, utterly confused by – well, just about everything. “Morning.” Bucky flashed a smile down at Steve. “How’s your head?”

Steve managed to grunt something in reply, his throat was too dry and his tongue too thick to manage anything more eloquent than that. He stared up at Bucky, amazed that anyone could look that good freshly rolled out of bed, and swallowed. The strength of his desire scared Steve a little, but despite that, despite that fact that Bucky really didn’t seem the type to take advantage – and the fact that Steve was still completely dressed, apart from his shoes Steve had to check. “Did anything…?”

“What?”

“Last night?” Steve squinted against the brightness in the room.

“God no.” Bucky laughed. “You threw up on the sidewalk on the way home, and I just about managed to get you to sit down on the sofa before you passed out. I’m just glad you made it upstairs under your own power – not sure I would have been able to carry you.”

Steve nodded, relieved to hear it all the same. “Why?” was his next question.

“Why what?”

“Am I here?”

Bucky laughed again and reached down to give Steve’s lower leg a soft shake through the blanket. “You were _pretty_ adamant about coming home with me.”

“Was I?” Steve asked, then groaned as memories began to emerge from the black depths of his memory, like traditional photographs developing in a dark room. Memories he wished he could forget again; god, why did he always get so needy and clinging when he was drunk? At some point in the evening he’d slung his arms around Bucky’s neck and waxed lyrical about the colour of his eyes and the swoop of his hair – or waxed drunken gibberish anyway. “Sorry.” Steve mumbled and screwed his eyes shut.

“Don’t be. It was adorable.”

Steve groaned and slumped back against the sofa cushions, letting his arm fall back across his face. “Can I just die of embarrassment now please?” He asked the universe. The universe just laughed at him, with a melodic lilt that sounded rather like Bucky.

“D’you want some water? Aspirin? Breakfast?”

“Yes please.” Steve let his arm fall lax beside him and knocked his head against the cushions. “ _Fuck_. What time is it?”

“Nearly midday.”

“Shit.” Steve bolted upright and glanced around for his phone, which he found on the side table – on charge, bless Bucky for that – he swiped it open and found that yes, it was 11:57am. He had a million missed alarm notifications and half a dozen messages from Sam, Sharon and Maria checking up on him with varying levels of concern. “I haven’t slept in this late since…” Steve wasn’t sure that last time he’d slept in beyond 10am. Not even when he’d got that awful fresher’s flu in first year, probably not since he’d had pneumonia as a child. “I missed my run.”

“I’m sure it won’t matter. Here you go,” Bucky handed Steve a large glass of water and a box of Aspirin.

Steve swung his legs off the coach to sit up properly as accepted them with a grateful, “Thanks.” He swallowed a couple of tablets and chased them down with the water, gulping it down until the glass was empty. He let out a sigh and rolled the glass back and forth between his hands. “You’re probably right. One day’s not gonna hurt. Still, I, uh,” he moved to stand up, wobbled as the room span, and promptly sat back on the couch a thump.

“Careful.” Bucky warned with an amused huff of laughter.

Steve screwed his eyes shut and tried to shake the hangover from his mind, but that only made his head ache worse. “I _was_ going to go to the library today.” He groaned. He was falling so far behind on his coursework.

“Why don’t you eat something, then see how you feel?” Bucky suggested and crossed to his kitchen that was set back from the living room, divided by a narrow breakfast bar. “I can offer you, er…” Steve lifted his head to watch Bucky scan the cupboards. “Um, toast or cereal? Oh, or eggs. I’ve got lots of eggs. Want an omelette?” Bucky ducked up from inside the fridge to smile at him.

“Yes please.” Steve could worry about his diet plan, skipped work-out, and mountain of schoolwork later. Right then he was just glad Bucky didn’t want to kick him out of the apartment, which was a small miracle considering the way Steve had made a fool of himself the night before. 

“Great.” Bucky started pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Anything you can’t eat?”

“No. Just go easy on the butter.”

“Of course.” Bucky laughed over his shoulder.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, it’s down the hall.”

Steve pushed himself of the sofa more carefully this time, and took a moment to let the room stop spinning before he staggered across the living room in the direction Bucky had pointed. As soon as he started moving, the cat picked itself up off the floor and started following him. It even tried to follow Steve into the bathroom until Bucky called from the kitchen, “Alpine! Leave him alone,” and made a ‘ _pspspsps’_ noise. The cat gave Steve a lingering look before flicking its tail into the air and stalking back down the hall.

“He likes you.” Bucky said when Steve plodded back into the living room, feeling a little better for having splashed his face in water and borrowed some of Bucky’s mouthwash to swill round his mouth. Alpine was back on him in an instant, weaving around Steve’s feet and arching up to rub against Steve’s legs.

Steve hummed in agreement and stooped to scratch Alpine behind the ears. The cat gave a purr before it sloped off across the room and climbed up onto a cat tree in the corner.

“Grub’s up.” Bucky pushed a plate onto the breakfast bar before turning back to the pan to cook a second omelette for himself. “There’s orange juice in the fridge if you want any – and coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”

Steve hesitated only for a moment before opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of orange juice. Bucky stretched up to reach two new glasses down the cupboard and slid them along the counter towards him, as he competently swilled the eggs around in the pan with his other hand. It all felt wonderfully domestic and Steve was actually glad that he’d missed his morning run if he meant he got these moments with Bucky instead. It was even better when Bucky planted a kiss against the side of Steve’s head before he settled next to him at the breakfast bar with his own plate, and a very large mug of steaming coffee.

“Sorry about last night, I don’t _normally_ get that drunk.” Steve apologised.

“Don’t worry, it was really adorable actually. You’re definitely not the worst drunk I’ve ever had to walk home.”

“Oh, you make a habit of it?”

“Not intentionally, but Clint gets daft when he drinks.” Bucky laughed. “And anyway – up until the point where you’d had too much to drink – we were both having a good time.”

Steve blushed into his plate. It was true though, Steve had had a better time yesterday with Bucky than with anyone else he’d hooked up during his three-and-a-bit years of college so far, and they hadn’t even done anything other than dance and – now that Steve’s memories were returning bit by bit – kiss under another street lamp.

“Next time we go dancing – we’ll lay off the drink,” Bucky conspired. “I liked the looked of where things were heading – before you went paralytic on me.” Bucky added with a soft laugh.

Steve stared at Bucky, who grinned back unabashed. His hair was still messy and he hadn’t changed yet – so his legs were still prominently on display. He’d hooked his ankles around the legs on the bar stool he was sitting on, and his thighs were spread slightly and gloriously toned. Once he’d noticed, Steve found it difficult to look away. If he _hadn’t_ gone and got so drunk the night before, Steve was pretty sure he knew how things would have ended up. And, as lovely as the breakfast was, Steve couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that they’d only shared the morning after, without fully enjoying the night before. But…and there was a big _but_ , Steve was definitely not in a position to be able to date someone, especially not someone as wonderful as Bucky, not in the middle of his senior season.

“Next time.” Steve gulped.

“Only if you want, of course.” Bucky took a casual sip of his coffee.

“Look, I, uh,” Steve faltered, but he knew he had to be honest. “I like you.”

“I can tell.” Bucky smiled. “I like you too.”

“Right.” More embarrassment flooded Steve’s cheeks.

“It’s not an issue – I checked the handbook. I’m a grad student, not a professor, we wouldn’t get in trouble if you wanted to, you know, date.” Bucky took another careful sip and a brief flash of uncertainty crossed his face like a cloud crossing the sun. It would have been easy to miss, if Steve hadn’t been staring, lost in Bucky’s eyes, and tuned in to his micro expressions. Oh, how desperately Steve wanted to be able to date Bucky, but:

“I can’t. I can’t date anyone right now.” He kept staring at Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky didn’t look hurt, or surprised, but Steve hastened to explain anyway. “We’re mid-season and with mid-terms, I just don’t have time. And like I told you, it’s not common knowledge, I don’t hide who I am – and I wouldn’t want to hide you – but if it came out now – if _I_ came out now, it would be a media circus and I don’t want to drag you into that –”

“Steve,”

“– and you know, if we lost, that they’d blame it on my sexuality, it’s not fair but –”

“Steve.” Bucky cut in more forcefully this time and got Steve to stop rambling. “It’s fine. I get it. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Right.” Steve dropped his head. “This isn’t going to make things awkward between us, is it?”

“Why would it? We can still be friends, right?”

“Even though I admitted wanting to jump your bones?” Steve laughed, then clamped his mouth shut, god why did he always have to be such an awkward idiot.

Luckily, Bucky just found him hilarious, and tipped his head back to laugh. Steve thought it might have been the most beautiful sound in the universe. “Finding out that your crush is requited, isn’t going to make things awkward.” Bucky assured him and Steve’s cheeks moved from pink towards mauve, thoughts stuttering to a halt over the fact that _Bucky_ had a crush on _him_. Bucky took a long sip of coffee, staring over the lip of his mug at Steve, clearly building towards asking for something. “Well, if you can’t date now, what about the off-season? After you’ve won the championship or the bowl, or whatever you call it.” Bucky grinned and Steve suspected he was playing dumb on purpose.

“That wouldn’t be until January…”

“I can wait.” Bucky shrugged and shovelled some more omelette into his mouth.

“Why?”

“Because you’re worth waiting for Steve.” Bucky spoke so plainly it made Steve’s heart skip a beat.

“But you don’t even know me.” Steve protested.

“Isn’t that the whole point of dating?” Bucky laughed, “To get to know someone?”

Steve didn’t have an argument for that, just a whole heap of insecurities. “What if you change your mind?”

“Pretty sure I _won’t_ , but,” he shrugged, “No pressure. And I’ll still see you for ballet on Tuesdays, right?”

“Yeah, please.”

Bucky smiled again. “And we can still kiss, sometimes?”

“You’d want to?”

“I like kissing you.” Bucky’s eyes twinkled and, with a renewed sense of confidence, Steve dipped across to kiss Bucky there and then. It started chaste, until Bucky curled a hand behind Steve’s head to hold him close and opened up his mouth, inviting Steve to deepen the kiss. He leant into it, using all of his core strength not to topple off the bar stool as he chased Bucky's lips for more.

“Yes.” Steve sighed, breaking off, feeling flush and dizzy with endorphins. “You can keep kissing me.”

“I maintain it’s still _you_ kissing _me_.” Bucky grinned, but then leant in to kiss Steve again. “I want to taking you dancing too. Proper dancing.” He added in low voice, leaning close enough to Steve that it was little more than a whisper.

“Is that not what we’re doing on Tuesdays?” Steve asked, breathless.

“Well, sort of. But I mean partner dancing: ballroom, latin, like a jive, or waltz – or a _tango._ ” Bucky sat back and wiggled his eyes brows.

“A tango?” Steve swallowed. “You know how to dance like that?”

“Ish.” Bucky waved his hand. “Enough to get by. There’s a, uh, dance social next Thursday. If you fancy it? I can show you the ropes?”

“Yeah?” There wasn’t a game next Saturday, as long as Steve didn’t stay out _too_ late, he could probably manage it. If he had any hopes of not being hungover for his Friday morning training, it would mean not drinking though, and Steve wasn’t sure he could face the idea of dancing Bucky like _that_ without some liquid courage.

“Only if you’re not busy. And not as a date, if you don’t want it to be. Bring your friends too, if you like. The more the merrier.”

“Okay, I’ll…I’ll try.” Steve promised and Bucky grinned at Steve with a bright warm smile that made Steve feel weightless.

As expected, the breakfast worked wonders to dispel Steve’s hangover, but once he’d eaten, Steve ran out of reasons to hang around at Bucky’s apartment. No matter how much he would have liked to stay and while away the afternoon with Bucky, Steve still had heaps of reading to get through and nowhere near enough time to get through it. He did get a goodbye kiss though; a long and lingering one in Bucky’s hallway, that filled Steve with a pleasant buzz he hoped would be enough to tide him over until he saw Bucky again on Tuesday.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve’s nerves were significantly more manageable the following Tuesday, and he succeeded in making a solid start on his seminar prep for Thursday; managing to even type up some of his notes from his Monday and Tuesday lectures before he arrived at the dance studios. He got there just as the class was letting out and returned the smiles each of the tiny looking freshman gave him as they filtered past.

“I still need your music, America!” Bucky shouted after them.

“Yeah, as soon as I decide on what I want to dance to.” She called back.

“ _Decide_?” Bucky looked ready to tear his hair out. “The recital’s in three weeks, Chavez!”

The girl gave a dramatic shrug and sloped off whilst Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kids these days, honestly.”

Steve gave a snort of laughter as he followed Bucky back into the dance studio and closed the door behind them. “They’re what – four, five years younger than you?” He realised he didn’t actually know how old Bucky was, but suspected there was only a few years between them.

“Might as well be fifty – I swear I don’t understand half of slang they use nowadays, I think they make it up on purpose, just to mess with me.”

“Probably.” Steve grinned. He dropped his bag by the door and slipped off his sneakers to change into his ballet shoes.

“Music requests?”

“That stuff from last week was nice.” Steve couldn’t have named the signer if you’d paid him a million dollars to do so, but he remembered the guitar and the sweet melody. It had sounded vaguely familiar to the old Irish stuff his ma always played, but more overtly contemporary somehow. If he’d known the first thing about music theory Steve might have been able to pin-point why, but sadly that had always escaped him. Bucky queued it up and hit play and suddenly the studio was filled with the half-familiar tunes.

“How many classes do you teach?” Steve asked as they warmed up, dropping into the stretches which had become second nature to Steve now, and he was pleased to find he could almost reach his toes as easily as Bucky could.

“Three freshmen classes and two sophomore.” Bucky answered as he stretched, “I also pitch in with rehearsals for the juniors and seniors if they need help. On top of the research for my thesis.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

Bucky shrugged and switched legs, draping himself with each to clasp a pointed toe with both hands wrapped around the arch of his foot. “They’re overseen the senior lectures who grade the recitals and set the syllabus, plus they pay me for it which off-sets my tuition, so,” Bucky shrugged. “Must be peanuts compared to your schedule, though.”

“Yeah it’s a lot. I miss free time.” Steve laughed.

“If you’re too busy on Thursday, please don’t feel pressure to come,”

“No, no, I want to. I’ll be there.” Steve assured Bucky. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, the moment he’d mentioned it to Sharon and Maria they’d surprised him by insisting they go. He hadn’t quite figured out if their eagerness was because they wanted to meet Bucky, or if they wanted to mock Steve’s dancing ability, or if they really did just want to go to a dance social. “My roommates insisted.”

“You’ll love it, I promise.” Bucky smiled and Steve’s chest did that funny swooping thing again where he felt weightless for a moment. “Alright, now this week I thought we’d work on some arabesques.”

Steve was pretty sure the whole purpose of an arabesque was for Bucky to press up tight behind him to help bend Steve’s leg in a backwards elevation, and to guide his arm forwards in a delicate reach. It looked elegant when Bucky demonstrated, and more like an imitation of a clunky hat stand when Steve tried to copy.

“You know, this really will be easier if you wear leggings,” Bucky chided when his hands bunched in the slippery material of Steve’s running shorts. “And don’t give me that crap about not owning any. I came to watch the game on Saturday, you live your entire life in leggings!”

Steve flushed and dropped out of the strained pose. “Those aren’t _leggings_.” He protested.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“They’re designed to be worn with padding!”

“Well, whatever. Try and get some leggings before next week, or I’ll lend you some tights that you _really_ won’t want to wear.”

Steve opened his mouth to make a joke about Bucky just wanting to see his legs, but then he clamped it shut, distracted by the thought of _Bucky_ in _tights_ and nothing else, and his mind ground to a halt. “You own tights?” He said in a small voice instead.

“Of course, I do.” Bucky laughed. He spotted Steve’s flustered expression in the mirror and his laugh turned into a full-on cackle. “Okay, here’s the deal. You wear leggings next week, and I’ll wear tights, how’s that sound?”

Steve tried to answer, but he was pretty sure it came out as nothing more coherent than a high-pitched whine.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Bucky flashed a sinfully smug grin and tapped Steve’s leg to get him to elevate it back into position.

Steve bit back and groan and tried to rein in his imagination. It didn’t help that on top of being unfairly attractive, Bucky was caring, charming, a damn good cook, and an even better kisser. Throw in the fact that Bucky was willing to _wait_ for him to date on Steve’s terms, and it was all just far too good to be true.

Steve breathed out carefully and tried to focus on his balance. These dances lessons might be what Steve needed to help them win the league, but he was pretty sure they were going to kill him long before they ever had the chance of making the play-offs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: idk if it's the same in the in the US/elsewhere, but the in the UK 'leggings' are opaque, skin tight but suitable to be worn on their own for exercise, or as clothing, etc. 'Tights' are generaly sheer and much thinner and you definitely wouldn't wear them on their own! (Ballet tights tend to have a _little_ more coverage, or at least, men normally wear a ballet belt underneath, which means they can be worn on their own in the studio / on stage). 
> 
> I hope you liked it! 💙💙💙💙


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments! It's wonderful to know so many people are enjoying this fic! 💙💙💙
> 
> The fic finally earns it's rating in this chapter 😉😉 
> 
> (As always, sorry for any inaccracies!)
> 
> ***Edit*** now featuring wonderful art from [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)!

They weren’t dating, but they kept texting each other photos and sweet messages throughout the day. They weren’t dating, but Bucky turned up for Steve’s lunch break on Wednesday, this time with two turkey subs that they ate on the quad outside the library, stretched out on the grass under the last of the October sunshine. They weren’t dating, but Steve approached his wardrobe on Thursday evening with the daunting task of figuring out what the hell to wear for the ‘dance social’, with butterflies in his stomach. Bucky had quickly become the brightest thing in Steve’s life, and although they weren’t dating, the prospect of spending all evening dancing with Bucky had been the only thing that had got him through the horrors of an afternoon spent being taunted and teased by Rumlow.

The problem was – Steve didn’t have the first clue what to wear. He stared blankly at his limited array of options feeling completely overwhelmed. He lived in sportswear normally: tracksuit trousers, college branded t-shirts, comfortable hoodies or windbreakers. The only times he dressed up were for media events, and then there was normally a stylist on hand to make sure he wasn’t committing some dreadful crimes against fashion. Was it too formal to wear a shirt? Was he okay to wear sneakers with his jeans, or did he need to break out his dress shoes? Bucky always looked flawless, whether in dance clothes or his vast array of stylish outfits, catalogued in Steve’s phone from the endless selfies Bucky had sent him; and Steve _knew_ he’d be in another killer outfit that evening. Surrounded by a sea of stylish dance majors. And then there would be Steve.

He wasn’t ever particularly vain about his appearance, but he wanted to try and make an effort, without it _looking_ like he’d made an effort. God, why was this so difficult, could he just wear joggers and a hoodie and be done with it?

“Good to go?” Maria poked her head into Steve’s room, not bothering to knock, and found him standing helplessly in his jeans, with two different shirts clutched in each hand and many more strewn across his bed.

“Help?” He asked, giving her a wide-eyed look.

Maria laughed at him and picked her way through the chaos to pluck a crisp white t-shirt from the discarded pile on Steve’s bed. “Keep it simple.” She shrugged and flung his black leather jacket at him from where it hung on the back of his door.

“You sure?” Steve glanced at the selection, and then up at Maria who was wearing a red dipped hem top in a fancy looking material over black jeans and heeled boots. She'd curled her hair and wore striking hoops in her ears. Steve looked back to the shirts he'd been deliberating over as Maria arched one neatly defined eyebrow. Who was she to question her judgement? “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” He mumbled and slipped the t-shirt over his head.

Maria stayed to watch him smooth it down over his abs before he shooed her from his room to finish getting ready (which mainly included a liberal amount of body spray and fixing some styling wax in his otherwise fluffy blonde hair) and stuff all of his clothes back in his wardrobe. Steve never minded when Maria ogled, not when he knew it was harmless, and that she valued him just as much for his ability to lose to her at Mario kart as she did for his appearance.

The same couldn’t be said for everyone else they met on their way to the bar though; that was one of the reasons Steve’s never bothered dressing up, he hated the giggles that erupted in his wake, and the feeling of lingering looks prickling at the back of his neck and…lower. Steve strongly regretted choosing to wear such a snug pair of jeans.

He was immensely grateful once they reached the relative safety of the bar and the dim lighting that let Steve blend into the shadows. But that came with a whole new set of problems, the main one spinning and twirling at the centre of the dance floor with a striking fluidity and a mesmerising grace. Bucky. Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, before galloping to make up for lost time and making him choke on his breath as he laid eyes on Bucky and Natasha putting the rest of the dancers to shame with an exuberant jive. They flowed easily through the dance steps, kicking with a lively energy, before transitioning fluidly into ‘hold’ where Bucky spun Natasha elegantly around on the tips of her toes. Steve was mesmerised, he stood frozen to the spot as he watched. Bucky had a wide grin plastered to his face and looked like he was laughing as he danced, possibly calling dance moves to Natasha, or maybe talking about something completely different.

Bucky looked even more beautiful than Steve had been prepared for; wearing super skinny black jeans with rips at the knees over black Cuban heeled boots. A loose fitting, dark patterned shirt cut across his biceps and gaped open at the neck, giving his glimpses of his collar bones toned chest as he danced. His hair was loose, bouncing as he moved, and his smile was brighter than the lights that illuminated the dance floor.

“That him?” Maria asked, following Steve’s line of sight to where Bucky was dancing. “He’s _hot_.”

Steve felt his cheeks burn.

“Go get him, champ.” Maria shoved him forwards and slapped his ass playfully, before making her way to the bar. Steve watched her go, vaguely noticing Sharon and some of her course friends were sitting at the bar with brightly coloured cocktails. Sam had said he might join them later; which Steve took to mean he’d wait until Steve was drunk before he dropped by to tease him – which left Steve to battle his nerves on his own as he tried to work up the courage to cross the dance floor and cut in.

Fortunately, Bucky spotted him and turned his thousand-watt smile on Steve before he had to worry about making his way over. Steve watched Bucky whisper something to Natasha who glanced up to give Steve a wave before twirling off to cut in with someone else, and before he knew it, Bucky was fighting his way across the dance floor to Steve.

“You made it!” He pulled Steve immediately into a warm hug. Steve could practically feel the heat radiating off Bucky, and when Bucky stepped back to grin at Steve, he shone with a light sheen of sweat that gathered at the base of his neck and in the bow of his lips, and made his cheeks glow a rosy and golden colour.

“I said I would.” Steve grinned back and, because he really couldn’t help himself – and because Bucky had said it was okay – he dipped his head to capture Bucky’s lips and pull him into a kiss. Bucky went easily, tilting his head to fix the angle and throwing both of his arms back around Steve’s neck, crossing them at the wrists to trap Steve and kiss him back with just as much passion.

Steve began to regret wearing snug jeans for an entirely different reason.

He was breathless when they broke off, and a little kiss drunk, and the look that Bucky flashed him told Steve they were only just getting started.

“C’mon,” Bucky linked his hand with Steve’s and pulled him towards the dancefloor. “Let’s dance.”

Steve was pretty sure the idea of the social was to dance with a mixture of different people to get to know them and try out different dance styles – at least the couples around them were constantly changing – but Bucky didn’t so much as _look_ at anyone else all evening. It was a heady, having Bucky’s full attention fixed on him all night, those slate grey eyes and cherry red smirk zeroed in on him with a heated want, but also infinite patience and affection as he walked Steve through the steps of a waltz, and a salsa, and a _tango_.

Either ballroom wasn’t that difficult to pick up when you were following, or Bucky was an incredible teacher, because Steve didn’t feel himself falter all evening as they whirled and twirled around the dancefloor, pressed close together with not even an inch between their torsos, his hand held firmly in Bucky’s grip, and a guiding hand pressed into the small of his back, steering him around the floor. He strongly suspected it was the latter. Steve had never had much of a sense of rhythm – possibly because he was partially deaf in one ear, though after seeing Barton waltz around with Natasha, he didn’t think that was much of an excuse – but in Bucky’s capable hands, Steve actually felt like he could dance, and understood the allure of it.

He also understood why dancers always looked so buff; dancing was exhausting.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked, beaming as they took a breather to get drinks from the bar (ice water for Steve, and something dark and whiskey based for Bucky).

“I think I’m beat.” Steve huffed, letting himself sink into an empty bar stool and drag a hand through his hair. He’d sweated through most of the gel and he could tell it was turning fluffy again. His t-shirt was probably also turning slightly see-through, if the glances he was garnering from the bartender were anything to go by, but with Bucky by his side, with their knees knocking against each other as they sipped at their drinks, Steve found he really didn’t care. “Dancing’s fun, but it’s a workout and a half.”

“It really is.” Bucky smiled back. “We can call it a night if you want?”

Steve knew he should do, he had training first thing and he’d be good for nothing if he didn’t get at least six hours of sleep before then, but he didn’t want the night to end yet. He liked the confident version of himself that Bucky drew out of him, he liked the feeling that had burned bright in his chest all evening, and Steve wasn’t ready to let go of that.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home?” Bucky offered.

Well, that was a good compromise, Steve supposed. “Yeah, okay.” He drained his water as Bucky knocked back the last of his drink.

They stopped by the booth Sharon and Maria had commandeered to watch the dancing from to say goodnight and collected their jackets from the coat check before they ventured outside.

The night air was brisk, but refreshing after an evening in the stuffy bar; though that didn’t stop Bucky from winding his arm through Steve’s, linking their hands together and pressing close against his side like they were trying to share warmth.

As they moved away from the noisy bars and 24-hour diners towards the quiet residential streets, they were enveloped by a sense of secretive sense of calm. There was no trace of wind so everything hung completely still as they meandered towards Steve’s house; not even the trees stirred in a breeze, and no cars cut across either end of the long street. It felt almost like the rest of the world had been put on pause, or like they were only people awake in the whole town.

Steve curled against Bucky as they walked, and gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze every now and again, just because it was there and just because he could. Every so often Bucky would squeeze it back, or swipe the pad of his thumb across the joints of Steve’s fingers, smiling across at Steve whenever he did.

“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Steve asked, softly, so as not to disturb the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?”

“I thought you were a ballet dancer?”

“Oh, I’ve always done a bit of everything. Mainly ballet, but you don’t study dance insolation,” Bucky smiled at Steve, not expressly like Steve was being an idiot, but more like his complete lack of knowledge of anything dance related was endearing. “Modern choreography likes to pick and choose from everything, you have to be versatile.”

“Makes sense.”

“And – not to brag,” Bucky added with a smirk that indicated he was about to do just that, “but if you can master ballet, ballroom isn’t exactly difficult.”

Steve laughed, and gave Bucky a nudge with his shoulder. “Seemed difficult to me.”

“Nah. You were great. Only stepped on my toes a couple of times.” Bucky grinned. “I might start teaching you some choreography next Tuesday.”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m ready for that?”

“We’ll see.” Bucky’s grin softened into something so tender it made Steve’s heart feel too big for his chest. “Maybe if I break it down into playbook terms for you.” He added with a teasing tone.

Steve laughed again and pulled his hand free from Bucky’s so he could wrap his arm around Bucky’s shoulder instead and pull him closer. Bucky’s hand found its way to Steve’s back pocket, with his thumb brushing over the seam at Steve’s hip. It was unspeakably intimate.

“That okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve hugged his arm tighter and twisted to press a kiss against the curls that clung to Bucky’s temple.

He almost didn’t want to reach his house, because that would mean saying goodnight, and although it was gone midnight and Steve was definitely encroaching on valuable sleeping hours, he really didn’t want to part ways just yet. Besides, he was still buzzing from the bar, there was no way he’d be able to fall asleep any time soon. The stars were shining brightly between fluffy wisps of dark clouds, which gave Steve an idea.

“D’you want to come in?” He offered. Maria and Sharon were still at the bar, and although Sam hadn’t turned up, the light in his room was off which meant he was out elsewhere, or safely asleep.

“Only if you’re sure. No pressure.”

“I know.” Steve smiled. He had to let go of Bucky and twist out of his grip so he could fish his keys from his jacket pocket, but as soon as the door was open he took Bucky’s hand and led him upstairs, tip-toeing past Sam’s bedroom door, just in case he was in bed.

The house had once been a respectable family home, before it had been let out to various students over the last couple of decades, which meant it had a sizable lounge, kitchen and a separate dining room downstairs. Upstairs housed Steve’s, Sam’s, and Maria’s room, whilst Sharon had the half of the attic which had been converted into a fourth bedroom. Opposite her room was a crawl space that, whilst now was mainly used for storage, had clearly been intended to be used as a kid’s playroom or something, because it was carpeted and there was an inexplicable skylight which could open completely vertical. It made the perfect place to stargaze and Steve by-passed his bedroom door in favour of climbing the second set of stairs and showing Bucky the secret hideaway.

“Should I be worried?” Bucky laughed when Steve opened the half-size door to the crawl space and switched on the light inside.

“No, it’s fine. C’mon.” Steve went first, stooping to brush past boxes of abandoned Christmas decorations, broken fans and desk chairs. He opened up the window, kneeling on the carpet and half-leaning out to push it open wide. When he sat back on his heels, he found Bucky kneeling beside him with a look of wonderment.

“Oh wow.” Bucky exhaled.

There was a beautiful view over the small back yard, out across the low-rise residential houses, sprinkled with dark patches of trees and gardens, and bright spots of streetlamps, all the way to the dark smudges of mountains on the distant horizon. The sun had long set and above the orange smudge of light pollution a decent dusting of stars illuminated the deep blue sky.

“I love it up here.” Steve said, as he settled back on the carpet, twisting to lie on his back with his head right under the window and his knees bent to fit in the small space. There was just about space for Bucky to lie down beside him, and tilt his head back for a better view of the stars.

“I can see why.” Bucky’s voice still sounded a little in awe. “I sit out on my fire escape sometimes, but this much better. The neon sign from the take-away opposite kind of blocks out any stars.”

“You can tilt the window so you even sit up here when it rains.” Steve added, proudly, not meaning to brag. It was where Steve went to think, to read, or just be, whenever he got a moment of free time to hide away. He knew the others knew about it, because Maria had been the one to first discover it, but Steve was only one who ever seemed to spend any time up there.

“Even better.” Bucky smiled before it sunk into something of a smirk. “Do you bring everyone up here?”

The question pulled Steve up short. “Um, no.” He’d only ever brought one person home during his time at college, but even then, he’d never even thought to show them the secret skylight. “I’ve never actually shown any one else before.” He felt himself flushing with the onset of embarrassment, but Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and gave it a squeeze and the spike of panic ebbed immediately.

“Thanks for sharing it with me.” Bucky said with a genuine sincerity that Steve didn’t know how to respond to, it only lasted for a moment, before his tone dropped back to the suggestive, playful lilt that Steve was more used to. “I guess that means you’ve never made out with anyone up here either?”

“No.” Steve’s cheeks finished turning tomato red.

“Do you want to?”

In answer, Steve rolled onto his side and pulled Bucky in for a kiss. He let his hands tangle in Bucky’s hair as he pulled him close and canted his hips flush against Bucky’s. In turn, Bucky brought a leg up to hitch over Steve’s hip and snaked his hand up under the hem of Steve’s t-shirt to splay his hand across the small of Steve’s back, guiding him like he did during their ballet lessons, only this time he wasn’t angling for proper form, but to roll their hips together as the kiss deepened and Bucky slipped his tongue against Steve’s.

Steve moaned and arched into the kiss, sliding his hand down to grasp around Bucky’s strong bicep, before he rolled back into his back, dragging Bucky with him until Bucky was straddling his torso, leaning into Steve to avoid bashing his head on the sloped ceiling, and bearing down to deepen the kiss with fervour. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been taken apart so thoroughly just by a kiss, but Bucky kissed like it was an art form, like it was another form of dancing. All of his fluid power and control was poured into the kiss, until Steve was left mewling beneath him. He wanted to give back as good as he got, but the best he could do was to give himself over to Bucky, to curl a hand in Bucky’s hair and grasp at his hip and ride it out like a skier in an avalanche, if the avalanche was chasing him towards pure bliss.

“Fuck,” Steve let out as a breathy moan as Bucky broke away, panting for breath. At least he looked just as flushed and kissed out as Steve felt. “ _Fuck_.” He said again and let his head fall back against the soft carpet. Bucky grinned down, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and dove straight back in, this time kissing along Steve’s jaw and down his throat, mouthing gently at the pulse point in Steve’s neck before pulling down the collar of Steve’s shirt to leave a trail of kisses along his collar bone.

“Can I mark you?”

“What?” Steve asked, dazed. He was swimming in endorphins. His thoughts felt fuzzy and pleasantly vague.

“Are you gonna get bullied in the locker room if I give you a hickey?” Bucky clarified.

“Oh. I don’t care.” He breathed out.

Bucky gave another impish smile and began to suck a bruising kiss right over Steve’s collarbone. The sensation sent a jolt of pressure right through Steve and he flinched, hands moving of their own accord to fist in Bucky’s curls.

“ _Oh,_ ” he barely let Bucky finish before he pulled him back up for another kiss.

They kissed until their lips felt swollen and Steve’s jaw began to ache. Bucky broke away to kiss and suck against Steve’s shoulders a few more times, painting his collarbones with a pattern of blossoming bruises, but not once did he ever push for more, or suggest that the kissing should be leading to something else. Steve could never articulate how grateful he was for that, or how much security it gave him.

“I should probably head home.” Bucky said with some reluctance, when at last they began to feel the chill through the open window.

“You could stay?” Steve offered, safe in the knowledge that Bucky would know he meant literally just to sleep.

“Hmm.” Bucky contemplated, running a hand through Steve’s hair which was now completely mussed and hopelessly fluffy. “If I do, will you wake me up at six am when you go for a run?”

“Probably.” Steve admitted.

“Then I’ll pass. My Friday’s don’t start until eleven and I’m fond of my lie-in.”

“But, if you stay – you can have more kisses in the morning, and you can go back to sleep after I leave. Sharon doesn’t have class until noon on Friday. She’ll be in to lock up after you leave.”

“Tempting.” Bucky purred against Steve’s jaw, still playing with the short fluffy strands of Steve’s blonde hair. The trees in the yard rustled with an uptick in the wind, and the softest pitter-patter of rain from clouds they hadn’t noticed encroaching up them, began to fall on the window pane.

“Now it’s raining. Now you have to stay.”

“I guess I do.” Bucky smiled.

Steve grinned back and twisted to kiss him again – until the rain actually started falling through the open window and they both scrambled to their knees to close it before the carpet got ruined.

They weren’t dating, but when Steve crawled into bed beside Bucky – after lending him a clean toothbrush and some clean shorts to sleep in – it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Steve set his alarm for six am as usual for Friday’s and made sure his phone was plugged into charge, before he settled back against his pillows. Bucky pulled him in for another kiss, this one practically chaste, before he blanketed himself around Steve, unafraid to use Steve’s chest as a pillow or to throw his leg across Steve’s hips.

Steve didn’t think he particularly had much difficulty in falling asleep, although sometimes he would lay awake running through the playbook or letting his thoughts churn through his seminar reading. But with Bucky draped over him like a weighted blanket, Steve succumbed to sleep immediately, falling harder and deeper than he ever remembered sleeping before.

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Steve never skipped his morning run. Even if it was torrential rain, or snowing outside he still forced himself out of bed to run at least some of his route. But with Bucky snoring softly against his chest it was a real struggle not to snooze the alarm and enjoy another hour of carding his hands through Bucky’s hair or tracing the graceful curves of his arms and shoulders with light fingers. When his alarm went off for the third time, Steve gave a disgruntled sigh and slipped carefully out of bed; not that he needed to be careful, Bucky was dead to world, fast asleep in such a deep sleep that he simply rolled over and wrapped himself around the comforter in lieu of Steve’s warm body. Steve smiled at the sight, feeling warmth explode in his chest, before he forced himself to the bathroom.

He flicked the light on and blinked in shock at the claret coloured bruises dappled along his colour bones before he remembered with a heady rush of joy at where they’d come from. He leant closer to the mirror and dragged his fingers across the love bites with a delighted smile. He had to zip his windbreaker right up to his chin to hide them, but Steve didn’t mind in the least, and he couldn’t stop running his hands across them even through the fabric of his shirt. Knowing they were there, knowing how Bucky had sucked and mouthed and kissed him like no one else ever had was worth far more than whatever his team mates were going to say about the matter. And, honestly?, part of Steve was looking forward to seeing their shocked faces.

He tried to wake Bucky to give him a proper goodbye before he left, but the best he got was a string of sleepy muttered nonsense that he doubted Bucky would remember when he woke.

“See you later, Buck.” Steve laughed gently as he pressed a kiss against Bucky’s temple and brushed away the soft strands of hair strewn across his face. “Thanks for yesterday.”

He paused in the doorway, admiring the sight of Bucky tangled in his sheets, and pulled the door closed with a gentle click, before embarking on his run with a definite spring in his step.

The light rain from yesterday had persisted and Steve ran through a cloud of damp mist around the campus and surrounding streets, and he was soaked by the time he entered the locker room to shower and change before the team breakfast. He stripped without thinking and earned himself an elaborate, elongated wolf-whistle from Gabe as he headed to the showers, which naturally drew everyone’s attention.

He ignored the prickling sensation of everyone’s eyes on him and resisted the urge to cover up his collarbones with the large splay of his hand. “Yeah, yeah,” He muttered, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, pleased that he was already so flushed and sweaty from his run that they couldn’t notice his blush. He took his time scrubbing himself down under the warm spray of the shower, hoping everyone’s attention would have been caught by something else by the time he left the showers with a towel slung around his waist.

Of course, it hadn’t. 

“Someone had fun last night.” Sam nudged him in the ribs with an elbow and a wink as they changed alongside each other in front of the bank of lockers.

Steve battled his blush to smirk back a Sam, giving him a nudge of his own. “Oh yeah – and where were you?” There’d been no sign of Sam in the house that morning which meant he’d ended up spending the night elsewhere.

“None o’ your damn business, that’s where.” Sam grinned back. Steve had to laugh.

“Jesus, Rogers, you dating a squid?” Dugan commented, whipping Steve lightly on the ass with his towel as he passed. 

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Gabe asked, wagging his eyebrows.

Steve’s stomach lurched a little at the presumed pronoun. “We’re not dating.” He evaded the question with a practised skill.

“Does she know that?” Dugan laughed, loud enough for it to echo around the room.

Gabe and Dugan both knew Steve was bi – most of the team did – and there was something grating about the fact that they assumed he’d still end up dating a woman; which is probably what prompted Steve to reply, “Yes, _he_ does,” with a trace of bitterness in his voice as he shrugged his shirt over his head.

Sam gave him a reassuring smile whilst Gabe and Dugan looked suitably chastised.

“Well, good on you, anyway.” Dugan gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder that nearly sent him colliding into his locker door. “It’s about time our illustrious captain saw some action.”

Steve summoned a smile and nodded at them before sitting sharply down on the bench to lace up his sneakers. Thankfully Rumlow hadn’t seen fit to force himself into the conversation, though he’d watched; sneering from the other side of the room. Steve arched an eyebrow at him, refusing to flinch away from Rumlow’s glare. It was moments like those that made Steve want to just declare it to the world, shout it from the rooftops that he loved men as well as women, and damn the consequences. He hated hiding, hated that it made Rumlow feel like he had something to hold over him, but he was clear on his game plan: he wouldn’t let Bucky get caught up in a media circus, and he wouldn’t come out to the press until they’d won their conference or made the play-offs, or at least played as well as they could – he wouldn’t let them blame his sexuality for a bad performance on the field.

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Although there was no game that weekend, Philips still kept them at practise until after dark, and although Steve had wanted to try and meet up with Bucky again, he was too tired to do anything other than send an apologetic text and crash asleep in his messy sheets that still carried Bucky’s lingering scent.

He rolled out of bed an hour later than normal on Saturday morning for his usual run, before hiding himself away on the top floor of the library to try and get some much needed work on his lit reviews and essays that were due before Thanksgiving. He managed to make a decent dent in his to-do list before his motivation evaporated at lunch-time, fortunately coinciding with a text from Bucky asking if he wanted to grab a bite to eat.

**Steve** : God yes please.

He texted back immediately, which was quickly followed by a crying-laughing emoji from Bucky.

**Bucky** : Give me ten mins to cool down and I’ll meet you at the coffee shop?

Steve didn’t bother replying, he just packed up all of his textbooks and shouldered his heavy rucksack, making his way straight over to the dance studios to meet Bucky there. The misty, overcast clouds from yesterday had given way to patchy blue sky, and when Steve opened the door to Studio 107 the clouds parted to fill the space with a warm golden light that captured Bucky perfectly on the floor lacing up a pair of boots over his workout leggings. 

Steve had given up art when football had muscled its way into his life and demanded all of his free time, but sometimes his hands still itched with the desire to capture an image on canvas, and with the sunlight glancing off Bucky’s cheekbones and the slope of his nose, curling around the bow of his lips and fanning behind the curled tendrils of his hair, Steve had never regretted giving up painting more in his life.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve spoke before he could think better of it.

Bucky glanced up, surprise giving way to delight when he saw Steve standing in the doorway. “Hiya, Steve.” He pulled his laces tight and bounced to his feet in one smooth move. Leggings and combat boots should be illegal, Steve thought before his brain shorted out at the sight of Bucky’s muscular thighs balanced by the chunky tread of the boots. He pulled a giant Chicago Red Stars hoodie over the top and swiped his keys and phone from the top of the speaker, twisting to press a kiss against Steve’s cheek before Steve had fully recovered.

“You okay there?” Bucky laughed softly at Steve.

“Yeah, just.” Steve blinked and shook his head to clear it. “Hi.” He gave up trying to voice his half thoughts about how beautiful Bucky was.

Bucky laughed at him and looped his arm through Steve’s. “Sounds like you need some coffee.”

“Lots of coffee.” Steve agreed.

They took their time over lunch, enjoying each other’s company and losing track of time as they talked nonsense and niche interests. Steve knew he should be heading back to do more work, but it was so disheartening sitting in the library all day. Whilst he welcomed the peace and quiet – which he knew he’d never get if he tried to study at home – sometimes watching everyone at the surrounding desks furiously scribble down notes and tap out essays at 90 words per minute felt too intimidating.

“You could come back to mine, if you like? I’ve got lesson plans to draw up all afternoon, and then I’m meant to be working on my thesis – so as long as you promise not to distract me?” Bucky offered, when Steve voiced his dislike of the library.

“Distract _you_?” Steve countered, arching an eyebrow.

Bucky just gave a shrug and a smile. “Plus, I have some cookies I baked yesterday – if they won’t mess up your meal plan.”

“What kind of cookies?”

“Butter pecan.” Bucky grinned, as if he _knew_ they were Steve’s favourite.

It was tempting, sorely tempting.

“C’mon – you can always go back to the library if you don’t like it any better, I won’t be offended.”

Which was how Steve found himself accompanying Bucky back to his apartment. Alpine started prowling around Bucky’s legs the moment he had the door open, and Steve suspected a lot of Bucky’s dancer’s balance and light footwork was at play to stop him from tripping over the cat as he crossed to kitchen to refill the bowl under the counter with a generous helping of dry food.

“Menace.” Bucky cooed softly as he scratched behind the cat’s ears. He tidied up a pot full of cutlery and utensils and a potted plant from the breakfast bar and then gave it a quick wipe down with a dishcloth before presenting it to Steve. “Voila. Will you be okay up here – or do you want the sofa, or I do have a desk in my room if you want?”

“This is fine.” Steve assured Bucky and started spreading out his books and rebooting his laptop, wondering where Bucky to work.

“More coffee to go with your cookie?” Bucky offered, already in the processing of flicking on the coffee maker. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, but help yourself to anything you want.” Bucky set the plate of cookies and two empty mugs on the counter, which Steve stared longingly at before letting himself be tempted, not only to another steaming mug of creamy coffee, but to _two_ butter pecan cookies that tasted just as soft and chewy and full of brown sugary goodness as Steve had dared to hope.

Bucky returned from his shower a little while later in a pair of lounge pants patterned with stars and planets and a tight fitting black tank top, carting a laptop and a stack of folders under his arm. His hair was loose, still damp from the shower and curling around his jaw. He padded around the kitchen, parading himself in front of Steve as he fixed himself a drink and tried to offer Steve another coffee. Steve had to stare very hard at his screen for a few minutes before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Despite that little setback, though, Steve found it surprisingly easy to concentrate whilst sitting in Bucky’s apartment. 

It turned out Bucky was one of those unfathomable people – like Maria – who could work whilst sitting slouched on the sofa with their laptop balanced on a throw cushion in their lap and their notes spread out on the floor, coffee table and the arm of the chair all around them. He’d put on some soft music that was unexpectedly not-distracting and, with the gentle sounds of Bucky typing and occasionally shuffling papers or sometimes humming along with the melody under his breath, Steve felt more focused than he had been all semester.

The sun set softly through the windows that ran all along one side of the apartment, shining through the metallic structure of the fire escape outside to cast a pretty pattern on the kitchen wall beside Steve and gave the whole apartment a cosy ‘golden-hour’ glow. By the time Alpine, who had slept peacefully on top of his cat tree all afternoon, occasional stretching and purring and sometimes standing up just to turn around and sit back down in the exact same spot – like a rather soothing desk toy that caught Steve’s attention whenever he glanced away from his screen to try and formulate a sentence in his mind – started pestering Bucky for more food, Steve realised he’d accomplished twice as much work as he’d hoped to.

Bucky stretched and yawned on the sofa behind him, sending a cascade of papers falling to the floor with a soft shuffle. “How is it that 7pm already?” He asked. “You want to stay for dinner?”

Steve glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen surprised to see the time. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course. Clint normally comes ‘round for pizzas on Saturdays, but he’s ditched me to hang out with Natasha this evening.”

“Oh, so I'm the second choice?” Steve twisted round to face Bucky, flashing a teasing smile.

Bucky laughed and crossed over to him, standing himself between Steve’s legs. With the height of the bar stool it meant that they were still roughly the same height.

“Never. Always first choice.” Bucky pressed a kiss to the end of Steve’s nose before he stepped away leaving Steve feeling a little bereft and giddy all at once. “What do you fancy? I can cook some pesto pasta, or d’you want take out? I’m kind of craving thai?”

“Thai sounds good. From that place down on Cedar Street?”

“That’s the one.” Bucky grinned and fished a good old-fashioned menu from a stack of papers beside the fridge.

They ordered far too much food between them – Steve had already written the day off after a double dose of caffeine and seconds of cookies – and ate it beside each other the sofa, passing the containers back and forth with an easily familiarity as they laughed along to a cheesy nineties rom-com Netflix had said was trending. Alpine sniffed around the containers before deciding he wasn’t interested in what they were eating after all, and proceeded to set himself down to sleep, right on top of Steve’s left foot.

“He _really_ likes you.” Bucky laughed as Steve stared down at the cat, scared to move without disturbing him. “I normally can’t get him to come close to anyone.”

Steve felt honoured, even though he’d never really been a cat person – or a pet person in general, but Alpine seemed harmless enough.

“Is he a rescue?”

“I guess, technically? I don’t really know where he came from. He just showed up on the fire escape when I moved in and decided this was his apartment too.” Bucky shrugged. “I had him checked for a chip and put up flyers, but no one claimed him, so I let him stay. He’s been here ever since.”

Steve laughed and looked back down at the cat who was now cleaning a paw with delicate strokes of his tongue, still completely slumped across Steve’s foot.

When the film finished, they let it roll over into the next recommended rom-com which they left playing in the background as they washed up dinner. Bucky washed whilst Steve dried, swaying his hips in time with the soundtrack to the film, and swiping a fingerful of clean bubbles on the end of Steve’s nose at one point. Steve gave a mock-disparaging look and swatted Bucky’s thigh with the tea-towel which made them both laugh. Then, after all the clean plates had been put back in the cupboards and they took to the sofa again, they ended up squished together in a way that indicated neither of them were particularly interested in watching the rest of the film.

“Still no pressure,” Bucky assured Steve as they shuffled more and more horizontal, Bucky basically lying on top of Steve. “but I’m going to kiss you some more.”

“You’d better.” Steve let out, already breathless with anticipation. Bucky grinned and caught his own bottom lip between his teeth and he moved to straddle Steve properly, pushing him down into the sofa cushions and kissing him tenderly. There was no preamble this time, Bucky tongue parted Steve’s lips and his hands came up to frame Steve’s face, holding him right where he wanted as they kissed and kissed until they both had to break for a gasp of air.

* * *

**Image** : Steve & Bucky kissing | **Art by** : [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)

* * *

They both quickly grew hard, and Steve could feel the bold outline of Bucky’s cock pressing into his hip as they both ground against each other. He chased it with his hips, thrusting up and revelling in the friction as his sweatpants dragged across his own erection. But it wasn’t enough.

“I want…” He started tentatively, not sure he had enough confidence to ask for what he wanted.

“Anything.” Bucky promised him. He pulled back a fraction, to let Steve voice whatever he wanted, but Steve faltered. He had no idea what he wanted, no idea what to ask for, he just wanted _Bucky_ and _more_.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Steve admitted in a small voice, waiting with tensed breath for Bucky to look horrified and mock him for his inexperience; after all, how could someone who looked the way he did, who was the captain of a top ranked college football team, not know what he was doing. It’s what always happened; why Steve was never willing to let things get this far.

It wasn’t that he had no experience, but nothing that he wanted to repeat. Arnie was the closest Steve had had to a positive experience, but their fumbled hand jobs and inexperienced kisses behind the bleachers at the football summer camp he’d attended before his sophomore year at high school weren’t really anything to write home about. Then there’d been Bonnie, who he’d taken to prom because their mothers were friends and Steve didn’t have a clue who else to go with. He might have been the quarterback and up from Prom King, but it didn’t mean he knew how to talk to girls – or boys. Steve was pretty sure Bonnie was using him for the clout, and although they’d kissed on the dancefloor and he’d _thought_ the night was going well, he’d seen her disappearing upstairs with someone else at the afterparty.

Lorraine, though; she was the worst. Steve had kept his head down in first year, trying to focus on his studies and get to grips with how he’d juggle playing full time for the football team the following year. He didn’t have time to date, but the campus fame that exploded around him in second year when he became the school’s starting quarterback, and the parties and social circles he found himself exposed to made it impossible to keep his head down in second year. Lorraine had taken it upon herself to insist they were dating and taken him home, not against his will – just perhaps his better judgement. He knew he wasn’t completely ready for what she wanted to do, but he hadn’t wanted to let her down so he’d tried his best; not that it really mattered, she’d been pretty content taking what she wanted from him, without Steve needing to have much say in the matter. It had taken a few months for Steve to eventually work up the courage to shrug her off and end things. 

After that he’d never been particularly keen to take anyone else home and had never gone further than the odd kiss and fumble in a club, and even then, when they realised Steve wasn’t going to take charge and live up to their expectations of what a confident experienced quarterback should be, it wasn’t like anyone was keen to go home with him either. Which all meant that now Steve was staring up at a beautiful man who he _wanted_ to go further with, he had no idea what to do or where to start without scaring him off.

But Bucky’s smile just turned even more tender, he brushed his thumb across Steve’s cheek and leant down to kiss him again, slow and careful this time.

“It’s just like dancing.” He whispered in Steve’s good ear, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“How so?” Steve dared to ask, blinking up at Bucky, hoping this wasn’t about to crumble to pieces in his hands; Steve wasn’t particularly good at dancing either, but Bucky knew that.

“You just follow my lead.” Bucky kissed his way across Steve’s jaw before capturing his lips in another kiss and shifting the angle of his hips so that their cocks brushed against each other. And _yes_ , that was the kind of friction Steve was after. The smooth drag sent pleasure pooling low in his gut and Steve hummed greedily, splaying his legs further apart beneath Bucky and thrusting up to brush against him again and again.

“Can I blow you?” Bucky asked, another soft whisper that tickled the shell of Steve’s ear and sent not just a shiver, but a bolt of electricity sparking down Steve’s spine. He nipped the lobe of Steve’s ear gently between his teeth and sucked for a moment, turning Steve’s spine to jelly. “You can say no, it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“No. _Yes_ ,” Steve corrected, “Yes, I do want that.” He definitely did.

“Okay then.” Bucky’s smile turned wolfish and he gave Steve’s ear another flick with his tongue, like a teasing precursor of what he was about to do, and slunk down Steve’s torso, running his hands down Steve’s sides and kissing Steve’s chest through his shirt as he went. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He reminded Steve, as he pushed Steve’s t-shirt up to bunch high on his stomach revealing the taut lines of his Adonis belt and the thin smattering of fine hair that trailed below the waistband of his tracksuit trousers. The material was already straining against Steve’s erection and when Bucky gently pulled the material of his pants and boxers down, leaving kisses in its wake, Steve’s cock sprang free. “Beautiful,” Bucky murmured and proceeded to place a kiss right against the head, which made Steve gasp and nearly spring upright on the couch. “You’re okay,” Bucky shimmed Steve’s pants down and rubbed soothing circles into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “Lie back, let me know if I do anything you don’t like.”

Steve nodded, letting out a shuddering breath and lay back, trusting Bucky like he’d never been able to trust anyone before. Bucky didn’t disappoint, he kissed and nipped at Steve’s thighs and his lower stomach, teasing, getting tantalising close to his cock without actually touching it. Heat pooled in Steve’s abdomen, gathering somewhere deep behind his naval and every nerve felt like it was ready to spontaneously combust by the time Bucky kissed the base of Steve’s cock. One side, then the other, followed by a long strip licked right from root to tip before he sucked the head into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, rubbing his tongue right across the frenulum and drawing a gasp of pleasure from Steve.

Only then did he take the whole shaft into his mouth like Steve had been expecting, and even after the pleasure Bucky had been slowly teasing from him, Steve wasn’t ready for the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth, nor the careful ministrations of his tongue. It felt nothing like any suck job Steve had had before, no one had ever bothered to take him apart with such care or paid such close attention to his reactions. Steve was right on the edge in no time at all, pleasure pulling like a hook down from his navel to the root of his cock, ready to explode.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve gasped. “I’m gonna…”

Bucky just hummed and smiled around Steve’s cock, his silver blue eyes looking delighted by how easily he’d made Steve come undone. It was the smile that tipped him over the edge and pleasure burst from Steve with a burst of bright white light behind his eyes. It rolled through him, lighting his skin with a crackle of electricity, draining him until he slumped, completely spent, back against the coach cushions breathing as hard as did after a run.

“You okay?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Steve grabbed for Bucky and hauled his close, smashing their mouths together, overcome with a desperate need to be close to Bucky, but lacking the strength or coordination to do more than kiss sloppily and just breathe against him. “God, Bucky. That,” Steve didn’t have the words so he stopped trying to speak and poured everything into kissing Bucky instead.

Bucky resettled himself above Steve and it was then that Steve’s wherewithal returned enough for him to realise Bucky was still hard.

“Can I?” He snaked a hand between them to brush tentatively against Bucky’s clothed erection.

“Only if you want to, don’t feel obliged.”

“ _Obliged?_ ” Steve laughed. “Fuck, Bucky, get your pants off now.” Steve laughed.

“Yes captain,” Bucky grinned, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that told Steve he’d been just _waiting_ to use that one. Steve was too blissed out to care, and when Bucky finally wriggled out of his lounge pants, he had more pressing things to worry about. If Steve thought Bucky’s cock had felt impressive through his pants, it was nothing to how it looked without. Bucky surged forwards to press himself prone against Steve again, kissed him tenderly and guided Steve’s hand to close slowly around his length. It was warm and throbbed slightly at Steve’s touch, and Bucky leant in to suck on Steve’s bottom lip and then kissed into his mouth with a heated want. “Steve,” he moaned against Steve’s mouth as Steve began to pump his hand gently, twisting on the upstroke and swiping his thumb through the pre-come beading at the head. “Just like that. Fuck, feels so good.” Bucky gasped between kisses.

Steve grew bolder with his touch and his strokes, using his other hand to grip tightly to Bucky’s bicep and hold them together as he slowly wrung pleasure from Bucky until he spilled over Steve’s hand with a stuttered gasp and a high keen that Steve committed to memory; determined to draw from Bucky again and again.

“Just like dancing.” Bucky breathed, collecting himself enough to sit up on Steve’s hips and grin down at him. His face was flushed and his hair was stuck to his forehead with traces sweat, but he looked just as beautiful as ever – more so, in his naked glory, with his hard-crafted dancer’s body gleaming in the soft amber light from the lamps scattered around the living room. “You pick it up in no time.” He exhaled as his chest rose and fell. Steve ran his hands up and down Bucky’s thighs, staring up with a dopey expression.

“You look happy.” Bucky commented, sitting back and trying to tuck his sweat-stuck hair behind his ears.

“I am.” Steve answered honestly.

Bucky gave a proud hum before he clambered off Steve’s lap and extended a hand to help Steve up to. “Let’s clean up and go to sleep, yeah?”

Steve let Bucky haul him to his feet and they stumbled to the bathroom together, with Bucky still managing to look graceful, despite his sleepy gait. Steve was no better, it felt like his muscles had atrophied to the consistency of syrup. But it was true; as Bucky wiped his stomach down with a warm washcloth, taking a minute to marvel at the love bites still muttered across his clavicle, and leant him a clean toothbrush; as they clambered into bed together for the second time in a few days, Steve felt happier than he remembered feeling in a long time – and so beyond grateful that Phillips had seen fit to send him for dance lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the tights didn't make an appearance 🙈 they'll be there next time, I promise 💙💙💙


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leggings, lifts, and a halloween suprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments, I'm amazed at the response to this story! 💙💙💙 Finally, the chapter you've all been waiting for - leggings and tights!
> 
> (ps, I've tried to understand how the bowls and NCAA Playoff National Championship works, but I still don't _quite_ get it, so please excuse me if I've made any ridiculous errors).
> 
> ***Edit*** : now with lovely art from [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)!

Steve woke early with the sunlight streaming through the thin drapes of Bucky’s bedroom windows. Bucky legs were tangled between his own as Bucky practically spooned him from behind and for once, Steve let himself just lie in bed and enjoy it. He even snuggled closer and let his mind drift as his head rested on the soft pillows and he basked in the comforting warmth of someone else lying close. Bucky’s breathing was deep and even, a soothing soundtrack for the sunlight that shifted and changed with passing clouds. Steve let himself just watch the play of the light and listen to the world stirring outside the windows.

They’d left the door slightly ajar and before long an obviously bored and hungry Alpine came to investigate, pushing the door open with a soft headbutt. Steve sat up slightly to watch the cat pace around the bed before jumping up and walking right across Steve’s legs to get to Bucky. Alpine pawed at Bucky’s legs for a minute, which earned no response other than a muffled sigh from where Bucky’s face was pressed into his pillow. Steve shuffled to sit up against the headboard and tried to coax the cat over to himself with a soft ‘pspsps’. Alpine gave him a long, considering look, before stalking up Bucky’s legs, jumping off his hip to follow the curve of Bucky's back and sit himself on the pillow beside Bucky’s head. Naively, Steve assumed Alpine might curl up and go to sleep—he’d never owned a pet—but rather than curling up or settling, Alpine began to nudge Bucky’s neck with his head and when that still didn’t wake Bucky up, the cat began to lick him.

“Oh, _Jesus._ ” Bucky gave a startled yelp. His eyes flew open and he woke with a gasp. He bolted upright and took a few minutes to get his bearings whilst Steve laughed very unsympathetically. “Yeah, yeah. Wait until he wakes _you_ up like that,” Bucky muttered at Steve before he turned his attention back to the cat and shooed Alpine to the floor. “Alright, you menace—are you really that starved that you had to come nibble on me? Not even gonna wait until I’m dead to start feasting off me, huh?” Bucky muttered to Alpine as he threw off the covers and stumbled out of bed. “You—stay where you are.” Bucky threw a pointed finger at Steve as he blearily rubbed his eyes and staggered out of the room, trailing behind Alpine like the doting pet owner he clearly was.

Steve let himself slide down the headboard and bunched the pillows under his head, happy to stay put as instructed. Bucky’s bedroom was light and airy and the sheets smelled distinctly of him; Steve would have been to lie there indefinitely. Plus, there was the implication that Steve might spend more mornings waking up at Bucky’s, enough for Alpine to get used to pestering _him_ for breakfast, and something about that made Steve’s heart sing.

He listened to some more grumbled complaining from Bucky and the sound of cupboards clattering as Bucky sorted Alpine’s breakfast, then noises from the bathroom, before Bucky came stumbling back to bed smelling of toothpaste, which was completely unfair seeing Steve’s morning breath was still horrible. Not that Bucky seemed to mind.

“Morning.” Bucky smiled as he leaned over to kiss Steve before crawling back into bed beside him and instantly cuddling close. “I put some coffee on.”

“Mhmm, thank you,” Steve returned sleepily. “I should probably leave soon,” he added, despite letting Bucky curl up against his side. “I need to get to the gym today.”

Bucky whined in protest and tucked himself closer against Steve’s side, throwing his leg over Steve’s thigh like he could pin him in place. He probably could, if Steve wanted to let him. “You don’t have to go. Plenty of cardio we can do right here.”

Steve gave a choked laugh at Bucky’s implication, feeling his cheeks burn tomato red and his heart rate spike.

“Only if you want, of course.” Bucky pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s shoulder whilst he snaked a hand up under Steve’s t-shirt to splay across his stomach. Steve tensed, still not used to the casual intimacy, but he instantly relaxed into it. His heart rate settled and he let out a low breath. It was so tempting to stay and explore more of what they’d started the day before, but Steve really did have to get to the gym.

“I can’t,” he all but exhaled.

“That’s okay.” Bucky retracted his hand and splayed it above Steve’s t-shirt instead. “D’you want some breakfast before you go? I picked up some everything bagels the other day. Cream cheese? Let your nutritionist yell at you later?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll come and help you.”

“No, no. You stay right there.” Bucky pressed another kiss to the juncture of Steve’s neck that was visible beneath his skewed collar, before scrambling upright again. Steve wanted to protest, to insist that he could help, but Bucky pinned him down, pushing Steve back into the pillows to kiss him until Steve’s brain turned to mush, and all thoughts of moving vanished from his mind. “If I can’t date you just yet, at least let me dote on you a bit?” Bucky smiled down at Steve, giving his bottom lip one final nip before he pushed himself off Steve and out of bed. Really, how could Steve argue with that?

They ended up eating breakfast sitting cross-legged in Bucky’s bed with the drapes thrown open to let the October sunlight flood around them. They used pillows to prop up their plates, and Alpine lay between them, flicking his tail lightly from side to side as Bucky sneakily fed the cat little crumbs of bagel. Steve cupped his mug of coffee between his hands and kept his eyes glued to Bucky’s face. He was unspeakably handsome, to begin with, made even more so by the personality that shone from it. Steve couldn’t remember a better morning.

When he did have to leave, after lingering for far longer than he should have, they parted with a goodbye kiss on Bucky’s doorstep and the promise of seeing each other again on Tuesday.

“Remember your leggings!” Bucky called after him as Steve left. “Or you won’t get to see me in tights!”

Steve turned to see Bucky grinning at him in the doorway, completely unashamed to be standing in the corridor, where any of his neighbours might see him, in nothing more than his boxers, an oversized grey hoodie, and a pair of bright yellow fluffy socks.

Steve smiled back, utterly fond. “I won’t!” he promised.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve’s nutritionist did, in fact, yell at him on Monday when he met up with her for his bi-weekly check-up. She prescribed him with a much stricter meal plan that appeared to be 100% protein and fibre, with absolutely no sugar to speak of until he needed to energy load before the game that weekend—at least that’s what it felt like to Steve. He grumbled his way through a bland salmon and soya bean salad that evening, whilst Maria and Sharon taunted him with cheeseburgers and curly fries as they caught up with the Great British Bake-off. Even Sam got to have some extra noodles with his. Steve couldn’t help but feel like his life was completely unfair.

It didn’t help that Halloween was fast approaching, either, and the café he liked to spend his Tuesday evenings in before ballet had filled the counter with even more cookies, cupcakes, and sweet treats than normal. Steve ogled the candy corn cupcakes, topped with little googly-eyed meringue ghosts. But he was good, sticking to his meal plan and ordering a double portion of their Greek-style chicken and quinoa, and resisting the temptation to order any dessert. They were only in October, but already he couldn’t _wait_ for the off-season.

The ballet studio was empty when Steve arrived. He peered through the darkened window into the deserted studio, and even pushed open the door, calling out for Bucky in confusion. He checked his phone but there was nothing to say their class had been cancelled; the last message he had from Bucky was a photo from that morning of Bucky stretching on his living room floor, with Alpine sitting in his lap admirably attempting to copy Bucky’s ‘good toes’ (and probably doing a better job of it than Steve). He was just beginning to panic, when Bucky’s harried voice shouted from down the corridor.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Steve looked up from the text he’d been composing and smiled at Bucky who looked flushed—like he’d just run half away across campus.

“No freshmen today?”

“Nah, they had their recitals this morning so I gave them a break today. Sorry, I got caught up helping grade papers, lost track of time. Didn’t mean to leave you waiting.” He gave Steve a peck on the cheek as he pushed open the studio door and flicked all the lights on, illuminating the sprung floor with a fluorescent glow.

“How did they get on?”

“Eh,” Bucky wobbled his hand from side to side. “No catastrophes.” He shrugged, then frowned as he noticed Steve’s very baggy sweatpants that most certainly didn’t count as leggings. “I hope you didn’t forget.”

“No.” Steve tapped his backpack. “Anywhere I can get changed?”

“There’s a cupboard at the back or dressing rooms down the hall.”

Steve glanced at the cupboard, then back to Bucky. “Where are your tights?” Fair was fair.

Bucky just smirked and rolled down the top of the slim-fitting yoga pants he was wearing to show the high-waistband of a pair of shiny white tights.

“Fine.” Steve sloped off to get changed.

He did, as a matter of fact, own a pair of leggings, running ones, that he normally wore _underneath_ his tracksuit trousers to layer up on a particularly cold day. They had ‘compression technology’ in the crotch for supposed modesty, but when Steve had tried them on that morning, he decided there was nothing modest about them. He didn’t know if it was because they lacked the padding on his thighs that came with his football pants or because they weren’t balanced out by his shoulder padding, or maybe just because he couldn’t hide his face under his eye-black and his helmet, but something about wearing the leggings made him feel all too self-aware about his legs—and his ass.

Steve sheepishly stepped out of the cupboard, flicking the light off and tugging his t-shirt down as low as it went. He made it a few steps into the room before he stopped in his tracks. Bucky had stripped down to his tights, as promised, and was warming up on the barre in front of the wall of mirrors. If Steve thought his leggings were obscene, the tights were outrageous. They clung to Bucky’s legs like a second skin, highlighting every single dip and swell of his muscles, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. And they contoured perfectly to his ass, in a way that looked like it had to be uncomfortable. It was certainly making Steve uncomfortable—compression technology or no.

He made a strangled sound and Bucky just laughed at him.

“You like?” He stepped away from the bar and twirled in an effortless pirouette, before coming to rest facing Steve and smiled. Steve just blinked at the bulge prominently on display.

“Aren’t they uncomfortable?” Steve managed to ask after his mind stopped playing a drone of white noise long enough for him to remember how to speak.

“Uncomfortable?”

Steve coughed. “It, er, looks like you have a wedgie.”

Bucky laughed at him, eyes crinkling and mouth cracked wide. “No. It’s not like a wedgie. But a ballet belt does take some getting used to.”

“A ballet belt?”

“Stops everything from moving around when I dance.”

“Right.” Steve’s brain was still stuck on the sight of Bucky’s thighs straining against the clingy material of the tights.

“C’mon let’s get warmed up. I promised some choreography this week, didn’t I?”

Steve honestly couldn’t remember very much of the lesson, other than knowing he blushed continuously as Bucky walked him through the steps of a pirouette and then taught him how to string some steps together in a simple ‘enchaînement’: arching into an arabesque, before elevating up into fifth, swapping feet with a few sautés, and then stepping forward to twirl in a pirouette to finish with a flourish. It looked graceful and elegant as Buck demonstrated it; flowing artfully from one move into the next. Steve felt much clunkier by comparison, but he appreciated the technique of shifting his balance through the motions and understood how it would help his footwork and the lightning-fast transitions he needed on the football field to avoid the defensive players.

“Not bad!” Bucky appraised. “Now try two with pirouettes in a row?” He stepped in close to catch Steve if he fell off balance with the second spin, but Steve ended up over-rotating and coming to rest face-to-face with Bucky, with barely an inch between them. “Hi.” Bucky gave a soft smile and Steve blinked as Bucky just stared at him, making no move to step back. Steve’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths brought on from the dancing, his ribs expanding into the hairline gap between them as he inhaled. He could feel the heat and tension that radiated between them. The static made his skin crackle. Bucky’s lips were _right there_ , and there was no one else in the room with him. Steve felt a swoop of danger somersault deep within his stomach as he closed the barest gap between them to kiss Bucky.

Bucky let them kiss for a long moment before he broke away with a reluctant sigh.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” Bucky’s voice was laced with regret, but he brought his hand up to brush soothingly across Steve’s hip as he spoke. “Later.” He promised.

“Later,” Steve agreed, even more breathless. He kept his hand on Steve’s hip, though. In fact, he kept at least one hand pressed somewhere against Steve’s hips, thighs, or the small of his back for the rest of the lesson.

“Do you want to try some lifts?” Bucky asked as the hour wore on. This was usually when they started winding down, but apparently, Steve wasn’t the only one keen to prolong their session today.

“Lifts?” Steve balked.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’d be able to lift me. I don’t often get to dance with a partner who can.”

“How does this help with my football?”

“Uh, hand-eye-coordination? Good balance?” Bucky invented on the spot.

“Really?” Steve deadpanned.

“Come on, you know you want to.”

“I don’t. What if I drop you?”

“You won’t. I’ll talk you through it. We’ll start with an easy one—that we always called the ‘split over’ in New York. It’s a little contemporary, but it’s fun. It’s basically gonna look like me doing a cartwheel over your head, okay?”

“That doesn’t _sound_ easy,” Steve protested.

“It is, trust me.”

The lift started with Bucky standing in front of Steve, perfectly poised with his neck drawn up and the tights making his ass look irresistible. Steve stepped up behind him, taking a huge gulp of air to steady himself as he did so.

“Left hand on the back of my left thigh, and grip it, okay? Hand pointing down towards the floor.” Steve placed his hand as instructed, flat against the meat of Bucky’s thigh. He splayed his fingers wide and gripped the muscle like he would a football. “You’re gonna push me up with that hand,” Bucky gently lifted his knee and Steve pushed his hand with it, demonstrating how Steve should boost him during the lift. “With me so far?”

Steve cleared his throat and managed a, “yes.” Bucky’s hands might have been all over _him_ during the lesson, but now that Steve was gripping Bucky’s thigh he wanted to get his hands everywhere else and finish what they’d started on Saturday night.

“Now put your right arm around my waist and tuck your head against my hip, kind of like you're going to tackle me.”

Steve blinked at their reflections in the mirror. “What?”

“Trust me, c’mon.” Bucky guided Steve’s arm so it was wrapped tight around Bucky’s waist, splaying Steve’s hand across his left hip. “We’re going to plié together, so keep your core engaged, then when we push up, lift my hamstring like so,” Bucky lifted his knee again, “straighten up and do a slow turn as I roll across your shoulders, okay?”

“Okay?” Steve really didn’t think it was a good idea. “I’m going to drop you—”

“No, you’re not.”

“—or pull my back.”

“Hey, I’m not that heavy.” Bucky slapped Steve playfully on the arm that was secured around his waist. “You never given anyone a piggyback before?”

“Yeah, of course, I have,”

“It’s no more dangerous than that. Less so, actually, because I know what I’m doing.” Bucky grinned at their reflections.

Steve nodded.

Bucky draped his left arm around Steve’s shoulder as Steve bent forwards to tuck his head beside Bucky’s hip. Bucky was right, it did feel somewhat like going in for a tackle, and part of Steve would have much preferred to tackle Bucky to the ground and be smothered with kisses.

“Ready? On three.”

They pushed up from the plié in unison and Steve boosted Bucky from the back of his thigh as instructed. Bucky must have put quite a lot of effort behind pushing himself up from the floor because he went over Steve’s shoulder as easy as anything. He straightened his legs into a split as he arched through the air across Steve’s back and Steve rotated into a slow circle. Once they’d turned back to face the mirrors, Bucky lowered himself to the floor with an easy grace to finish with another pilé. Steve had only caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror, he was far more preoccupied with not dropping Bucky, but the glimpse he did get of Bucky’s strong legs split wide as he rested over Steve’s shoulder, with his shiny white tights catching the light and highlighting the curves of his broad thighs and flexed calves, right down to the curved points of his toes, had been mesmerising.

“See!” Bucky grinned. He spun around and pulled Steve into a hug. “I knew you could do it! Let’s add it to the end of the routine! I’m gonna make a dancer of you yet, Rogers.” Bucky was beaming from ear to ear as he pulled back and started repositioning them to run through the whole ‘routine’.

Steve felt pride and some other unfamiliar feeling sweep through him as he watched Bucky demonstrating how the lift could be tacked on to the end of the few steps he’d choreographed for Steve. It wasn’t until much, much later that Steve would realise that unfamiliar feeling was love. Right then, he just felt utterly content.

They cooled down the usual stretches, sitting facing each on the floor as they stretched out their aching leg muscles.

“What are you doing for Halloween on Friday?” Bucky asked he leaned forward to wrap his hand beneath the arch of his foot, in a move Steve could never hope to mimic.

“We’ve got an away game this Saturday, so, travelling. And then trying to get some sleep in an uncomfortable hotel room.”

“A hotel room, huh?” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows.

“A _shared_ hotel room.”

“Oh, that sucks.”

Steve shrugged. “I normally end up sharing with Gabe, which isn’t so bad. He’s tidy, and he goes to bed early—when he’s not puking his guts out in the bathroom with nerves.”

“Yuck.”

“If it’s not him, then it’s me.” Steve laughed.

“Yeah, stage fright. I’ve heard it’s the worst.” Bucky pulled his feet together in front of him and started bending his knees down the floor.

“Heard?”

“I always _loved_ being on stage. The adrenaline rush, the energy you get from an audience. It was exhilarating.” Steve didn’t miss the slight downturn to Bucky’s mouth as the past tense phrasing. “I could take or leave the rest of it; the bitchiness backstage and…well, I told you about the rest of it. But there’s nothing quite like dancing on stage.”

“No. I imagine there’s not.” Steve gave up stretching and sat back to watch Bucky finish the rest of his cool-down. “When the crowd gets behind you in a game, it’s thrilling and I love it once I’m out there. It’s just the build-up I can’t handle. The pre-match stress…just _waiting_ , wanting it to be over and done with.”

“Is it an important game this weekend?”

“Very.”

“I bet you say that about all of them.” Bucky’s mouth twisted into a smile.

“They are! There’s too many great teams in our conference, you can’t afford to lose a game.”

“You haven’t lost one yet,” Bucky pointed out. He stopped stretching too and crossed his legs to sit and face Steve.

“No, but we drew the first and barely won the second. We’re hanging on by a thread as it is.” Steve bent his right leg and hugged it close to rest his chin on his knees.

“What happens if you lose?”

“We don’t make it to a bowl, and if we don’t make it to a bowl, we don’t make it to the playoff.”

“And that’s bad?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, he knew that Bucky knew all of this. “Of course, that’s bad. That’s the whole reason why we play.”

“Okay, I know it’s bad for the school, and town morale and whatever, but is it bad for you personally?” Bucky leant back with his arms propped behind him.

Steve frowned. “Well, yeah, my chances of getting drafted hinge on how well we play this season,” Steve answered. “And not just me, we’ve got loads of good guys looking to enter the draft next year. Plus, you know, we can’t leave the guys staying on in a bad position. A poor season can affect funding, endorsements, new recruits—no one wants to play for a losing team.” Steve muttered. “And _yeah,_ it’s bad for town morale. Have you ever had the weight of 150,000 people’s hopes and dreams on your shoulders? Or been blamed for crushing them because you fumbled a call? Plus . . .” Steve drifted off and lifted his eyes to peer out of the inky black windows to the impenetrable night sky beyond. “I have to play well. You know why. I can’t give them ammunition for their bigotry. We _have_ to win because I can’t keep lying any longer. I’m sick of it—of hiding, of feeling like I’m being dishonest. More than that, I’m . . .” Steve didn’t know who to put it into words. It felt like a constant cloud hanging over everything he did, a constant threat of rain that marred even the brightest of days. He hated hiding, hated worrying about what would happen if he came out publicly, hated giving people like Rumlow power over him because he was keeping it secret.

“No wonder you’re so tense all the time, carrying all of that on your shoulders,” Bucky muttered.

“It’s the job.” Steve shrugged.

“But it’s not a _job_ , and you’ve got all your school work on top of that besides. Christ.” Bucky shook his head. “You need to let go of some of it, or else you’re going to . . . I dunno . . . burn out, die of stress? Lose all of your lovely hair?” Bucky laughed and Steve blushed, scratching his chin against his knee. “You’ve got to stop worrying about not being out if nothing else.”

Steve blinked at Bucky from across the knobbly mound of his knee. He’d thought Bucky of all people would understand why he couldn’t stop worrying about that thing in particular.

“I can’t just—are you saying?—what?—that I have to come out? Really?” Steve spluttered. “You know I can’t—”

“No, no, no, I’m saying stop _worrying_ ,” Bucky hastened to explain.

Steve worked his jaw a few times, perplexed. “What?” More importantly, _how?_ It wasn’t anywhere near that simple.

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’re worried that somehow you’re being dishonest. And you’re not, Steve.” Bucky said. “You’re honest with yourself, with your friends, and with me. That’s all that matters. Screw everyone else. You’re not _lying_ to anyone just because you aren’t broadcasting every tiny detail about your personal life. You don’t owe them anything.”

Steve clamped his mouth shut. His brows pulled together in confusion.

“If you can stop worrying about that, then it’s one less thing on your plate. Not much I can do about the rest.”

“But, I am. Aren’t I?” Steve swallowed. “I’m lying to all the people who look up to me Hiding from them. All of those kids.” Steve turned his head away so that his cheek was pressed against his knee and he wasn’t looking directly at Bucky. “If _I’d_ known, when I was younger, that there were people like me playing in the NFL . . . do you know how much confidence that would have given me? There are nine, _nine_ , regular-season players in the whole hundred-year NFL history that I know of who have come out. There must have been more, I mean statistically, there _has_ to have been more who couldn’t be true to themselves. Don’t I owe it to the next generation to be honest?”

“Not until you’re ready. If, and only if, you think it’s the right thing to do _for you_ ,” Bucky answered readily.

Steve glanced back at him, uncertain. Was it that simple?

“I hate how much pressure there is to come out. Like it’s some big milestone, that somehow, you’re not really gay—or bi—until the whole world knows. It’s bullshit. We need to move past the idea that being ‘out and proud’ is the only way to be true to yourself. I love Pride, don’t get me wrong,” Bucky laughed and Steve couldn’t help picturing Bucky taking part in the Pride parades Steve had always admired from afar, decked out in rainbow body glitter and bare-chested in the July sunshine, perhaps. “But it makes a spectacle of the whole thing. An otherness. What we need to do is to get rid of the idea that straight is the default. There’s no shame in keeping your private life private, the _shame_ is on everyone who assumed you were straight in the first place.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat and he lifted his head to get a better look at Bucky as he spoke. There was such conviction in his voice, it was clearly something that resonated deep within him, and it rang true to Steve too; hitting upon all of the insecurities he’d harboured deep within his soul.

“This nosiness about sexuality, gender identity, is just that. It’s prying and intrusive. As long as your honest with yourself and the people you’re sleeping with—and even then, only the aspects that are actually relevant to them—fuck everyone else. You don’t owe them anything.”

Steve felt himself welling up as Bucky spoke. It went against everything anyone else had ever told him, but it was exactly what Steve needed to hear. He launched himself across the slippery, sprung dance floor, to throw his arms around Bucky in a clumsy, desperate hug that sent them both sprawling back on the floor.

“Thank you.” Steve’s voice caught on half-formed sobs. “I really needed to hear that.”

Bucky shifted his legs to fix their position and clutched Steve close against his chest. It was such a simple truth, but one Steve had never considered to be possible. He’d felt like a fraud and failure for years because he’d never been brave enough to publicise his sexuality, which was ridiculous. Bucky was right, Steve didn’t owe that knowledge to anyone but himself. It was like Bucky’s reassurance had popped an abbess that had been festering at the back of Steve’s mind and as they held each other close, Steve felt the guilt that had been eating him from inside out, drain away. Along with a few tears that Steve couldn’t keep at bay.

“Thank you,” he said again, muffled against Bucky’s shoulder. He already felt lighter, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders.

“It’s okay.” Bucky gripped Steve tighter and engulfed him with his comforting warmth and for a moment they just lay on the studio floor holding each other. “There’s a 24-hour diner just off campus that serves a mean all-day breakfast menu.” Bucky said after a while. “I skipped dinner because I was so caught up grading papers, you want to go get some pancakes?”

Steve sniffled against Bucky’s shoulder and took a moment to compose himself before pulling back and sitting up. “Can’t. My nutritionist is already out for my head.”

“Later then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Steve agreed, sniffing back the last traces of his tears.

“Come here.” Bucky sat up and beckoned him back for another hug. Steve went easily, letting himself be wrapped back up in Bucky’s arms. “Do you want to hear my plans for Halloween?”

“Yes, please. You dressing up?”

“Uh-huh. Clint’s throwing a house party. I haven’t decided what I’m going as yet, it’s a toss-up between a slutty vampire and a zombie quarterback.”

“Zombie quarterback?” Steve laughed.

“Yeah, you know, one too many concussions, lots of green eyeshadow and fake blood, out for brains.” Bucky returned with a happy lilt to his voice. Steve tried to picture it.

“You’d look good in shoulder pads.”

“I know I would.”

They hugged for a while longer before each getting changed back into their outer layers and locking up the studio. Bucky walked Steve back across the campus, pausing under the same streetlights to trade kisses like they had after the very first lesson. It was already much colder than it had been then, and there were far more leaves crunching underfoot. Steve had never really been that enamoured with Halloween, it was never more than a blip in the football calendar, but he was disappointed that he wouldn’t get the opportunity to see Bucky dressed up first-hand.

“I guess if you’re away this weekend, I won’t get to see you?”

“Won’t be back until late Sunday,” Steve confirmed. “And tomorrow and Thursday are going to be busy too.”

“So, next Tuesday then?” Bucky asked.

“It feels like so far away.”

“I’ll text,” Bucky promised.

“Please do.”

“And you can always call me, y’know,” Bucky added, arching up to kiss Steve again. It was familiar and sweet and Steve’s feelings swooped in a way that was reminiscent of Bucky’s split over lift.

“Okay.” Steve tucked Bucky’s hair back behind his ear and leant in for another kiss, pretty certain his heart had never felt so full, nor his mind so carefree.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Wednesday and Thursday passed in a blur of training, and before Steve knew it, he was cutting out of his Friday classes early to catch a flight across a few state lines for their away game. As always, the bus that picked them up from the airport was ridiculously plush, and the upper-midrange hotel they’d booked to stay in went the extra mile to welcome them. Despite Bucky’s words and the calm he’d felt when they’d said goodbye on Tuesday, Steve’s mind was a running a mile a minute; overthinking everything from the new plays they’d perfected to combat their opponents, to worrying if he’d remembered to pack his cleats, or if he’d correctly labelled the special blend glucose drinks his nutritionist wanted him to take at staggered intervals before kick-off.

He’d shoved his wireless headphones over his ears on the flight and hadn’t taken them off for the whole journey, listening to a calming indie/folk/electronic playlist he’d found on Spotify that reminded him of some of the songs Bucky played in the studio. He knew he must have looked vaguely ridiculous, or perhaps just living up to the aloof arrogance everyone expected from their quarterback, with his giant headphones on, his hands stuffed into the kangaroo pocket of his team-branded hoodie, and his eyes cast down to the floor, but Steve’s mind was too noisy to deal with anything else.

Whilst the city geared up for Halloween around them, the team ploughed their way through a tense and nervous team dinner, before retiring for an early night. Steve ended up rooming with Gabe as usual. Dugan and Morita were next door, and Sam was bunking with their other starting wide receiver, Maximoff, down the hall. Gabe took up residence in the bathroom like Steve knew he would, and Steve switched out all of the lights so he could try and lull his mind into a sense of calm, or at least quieten it enough to get some sleep. After a while of lying in the dark, listening to the bathroom extractor fan, and staring up at the dull ceiling, Steve gave up and reached for his phone.

Bucky had been sending him a steady stream of text messages as promised, and the last ones—which must have come through whilst Steve was dinner—were of Bucky all dressed up for Clint’s house party. He’d obviously elected to go for the slutty vampire route, wear a billowing white pirate shirt that was tucked into high-waisted black leather trousers that clung to his legs like a second skin. Fake blood dripped from fake fangs and his hair looked more voluminous than usual, swept over to one side to reveal fake vampire bites painted on to his neck. Steve couldn’t help but stare. Bucky looked exquisite. There was a selfie, followed by a few group shots of what appeared to be Robin Hood Clint, and Natasha as Kim Possible, and a whole group of people dressed up as the Spartans from 300. Bucky outshone them all.

Steve started typing out a message, writing it, and deleting it a few times, but he gave up and left his thumb poised over the call button. Bucky had said he could call anytime, but perhaps that didn’t mean in the middle of a party. Steve hesitated for a long moment before he took the plunge and hit ‘call’. If it wasn’t okay, Bucky wouldn’t pick up.

“Steve!” Bucky picked up on the second ring. It was clear from the noise on his end of the call that he was right in the middle of the party.

“Hi, sorry, is this okay?”

“Yeah,’course! Let me go somewhere quieter—hang on.” He already sounded a bit drunk, which wasn’t bad for just after midnight. “Are you decent? Can I switch to video? Wanna see you,” Bucky said as the background music faded and he headed away from the music.

“Um, sure?”

The screen flipped over to video and Steve was treated to a shot of Bucky sitting out in Clint’s garden, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen and the light spilling out of the house behind him.

“Nice outfit,” Steve commented. “You didn’t end up going with the zombie quarterback?”

“Nah, I see you're modelling a version of it nicely though.” He grinned.

Steve rolled his eyes at the phone screen which made Bucky laugh.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. I’m so jittery with nerves. I can’t settle. How’s your night going?”

“ _Very_ good. I’m a little drunk, I’ve eaten lots of candy, and lots of people have complimented me on my outfit, so I’m having a great time.” His smile widened another degree and Bucky sloshed a red solo cup at the phone screen in an approximation of a toast.

“Good.”

“I’m sure you’ve tried counting sheep?”

Steve snorted.

“You know what I always find a fool-proof way of getting to sleep?”

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“Masturbating,” Bucky said brazenly and Steve scrambled to turn the volume down on the call. “A good orgasm’ll knock you right out.”

“Shush! Gabe’s in the bathroom!”

“So? You’re telling me you’ve never jacked it off with anyone else in the room?”

“No!” Steve replied, horrified.

“It’s not like he can hear you if he’s throwing up.”

“He could come back into the room at any time,” Steve hissed back.

Bucky smirked. “God, you’re so virtuous. I love it.” Steve felt himself blush. “And I really don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” Bucky sighed, and Steve realised just how drunk Bucky actually was. He settled back on the low garden wall he was sitting on and took a long slurp of drink. “You’re a gift, Steve. I love how you trust me with it, how you let me take you apart. I love your fat cock—”

Steve’s blush deepened. “Bucky!” He gasped, so glad he’d managed to quieten the call so that Gabe wouldn’t be able to hear it, even without the sound of the bathroom’s extractor fan.

“—wanna get my mouth on it again, and your ass, Stevie. _God_ , you’ve got an ass to die for.” Bucky sounded very slurred. His words were making Steve’s cheeks burn some awful, and his cock twitch with interest, which was the opposite of helpful. He was already too wound up as it was.

“Shush, Buck,” Steve hissed back with a smile. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

Bucky carried on like he hadn’t heard Steve, and maybe he hadn’t, his expression was far away, lost somewhere in his drunken imagination.

“Has anyone ever rimmed you? I bet they haven’t, which is a crying shame. I’m gonna eat you out so good, make you orgasm so hard you’ll sleep for a week.” He sounded _very_ drunk, but there was a tender affection in his voice that just made the whole thing sound endearing.

“A week, huh?” Steve laughed.

“Yep.” Bucky popped the ‘p’ and grinned through the phone with a hazy drunken smile that was full of adoration.

“Better wait until the off-season then.”

“Ah, the hallowed off-season, when I’m finally allowed to date you. Though, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Bucky dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “I think we’re pretty much dating already.”

Steve couldn’t disagree.

“I told my sister about you,” Bucky went on. “Not the specifics, don’t worry. I just told her I had a wonderful new boyfriend called Steve. She wants to meet you. Told me to bring you home for Thanksgiving. I know I can’t because you have a game. Can’t even bring you home for Christmas, if you make the playoffs. Or New Year if you make it to the final. Which I’m selfishly hoping you won’t. I wanna kiss you at midnight and tell you I love you.”

Bucky was drunk so Steve didn’t hold his words at face value, but they still enveloped Steve in a warmth that felt like a hug. No one had ever said they loved him before, drunk or otherwise. No one other than his mom.

“I’d like that,” Steve admitted quietly.

Bucky hummed and sipped some more drink from his cup, looking thoughtful for a moment, before his mind tracked back to where the conversation had derailed. “So, if you didn’t want phone sex, why did you call?”

Steve shifted the hand he was holding his phone with and shrugged. He dragged his free hand through his hair and cocked his arm behind his head. “I just wanted to hear your voice,” he admitted. “My brain’s being too noisy.”

* * *

**Image** : "I just wanted to hear your voice" | **Art by** : [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)

* * *

“Okay. Well, you called the right person,” Bucky smiled and flicked his hair across to the other side of his head. “I’m good at rambling, ‘specially when I’m drunk. I really loved our session on Tuesday, I think I’m gonna have to teach you some more lifts next week. I bet you could do the _Dirty Dancing_ lift.”

“Really?”

“Maybe in a few weeks. I should focus on your footwork. Get you doing some fouettés or more jumps. Some pas de chats, maybe.”

“What are those?”

Bucky launched into an explanation, talking in technical terms that washed over Steve’s head, but with such an obvious passion for dancing that it brought a smile to Steve’s lips. He rolled onto his side and let his arm holding the phone come to rest against the pillow next to his head. He focused on Bucky’s words and lost himself in the expressions that flickered across Bucky’s face as he talked. Already, Steve felt much calmer.

“What’s your favourite ballet move?” Steve asked, sleepily. He shuffled further onto his side and drew a leg up to stabilise himself, finally feeling like he might be able to drift off if he tried.

“The jumps. I love the ones that really move, grand jetes, revoltades,” Bucky answered immediately. “I used to be able to do a triple tour. Just for fun, we never used it in choreography. Not sure I could still do it.” He sounded a little wistful. “Thor videoed it though. Pretty sure it’s still up on the company page, remind me to send you a link.”

“I will.”

“You’re sounding sleepier.” Bucky smiled.

“I am, yeah,” Steve answered and actually yawned.

“Want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep?”

Steve mumbled something that Bucky, fortunately, understood as a ‘yes’.

“I’ll take you off video though, save your battery,” Bucky laughed. The call switched back to a regular voice call and Steve let the phone fall onto the pillow beside him, listening to Bucky explain more lifts and routines, which helped lull him to sleep.

Steve slept deeply. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when his alarm sounded the following morning, it dragged him up from the depths of his unconsciousness feeling rested and refreshed. Details of his dream vanished like expelled breath when Steve opened his eyes, but he knew there’d been lots of tutus and twirling, and leaping around an infinite stage in endless jumps and bounds, feeling weightless and invincible. He managed to carry some of that feeling with him through the day, sprinting up and down the football field in their warm-ups trying to chase the feeling of boundless energy he’d had in the dream.

Away games were always more daunting. Though there was a small crowd of supporters who’d come to cheer them on, the ground was swollen with the colours of their opposing team and the chants which echoed around the grounds were decidedly not in their favour. Steve was confident though, as he bounced up and down in the tunnel, swinging his arms to loosen himself up and cracking his head from side to side. The team was in good shape, the drills they’d practised that morning had all gone seamlessly, and Steve was buoyed with a new sense of perspective and something wonderful to look forward to even if they did lose.

The call time, when he’d checked his phone that morning, told him Bucky had stayed on the line with him for over an hour, making sure Steve was safely sound asleep. And the follow-up text messages that had come through an hour before kick-off had been enough to make Steve’s heart fit to burst.

**Bucky** (01:23): Sweet dreams!

**Bucky** (15:02): sorry if I said anything particularly stupid

**Bucky** (15:02): I was v drunk (if you couldn’t tell)

**Bucky** (15:03): I’m glad you called tho. it was nice to ramble at you.

Then, a little while after the others, just when Steve was about to switch his phone off and focus on calming his nerves before the game: a photo of Bucky sitting on his couch in an football jersey with Alpine perched in his lap with a little school flag propped between his front paws.

**Bucky** (15:22): good luck! don’t break a leg! we’re rooting for you! xxxxxx

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this lovely art of Ballet dancer Bucky which [Cassi (@foxybucky)](https://twitter.com/foxybucky) drew for me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘When a male ballet dancer tries pole dancing’_ was the title of the video. It had been uploaded by some third party scouting for hits, with the original video clearly taken from Instagram or Snapchat, judging by the crop. And it was _beautiful_. Classical ballet music swelled in the background as Bucky twirled effortlessly around the pole, flexing every single muscle, muscles Steve didn’t even know _existed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! They mean so much to me, and I'm so glad people are enjoying this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it 💙💙💙💙

They won. Easily, in the end. Steve managed to make a few good throws, Sam made some spectacular catches, and Maximoff must have broken the 40-yard dash record a couple of times over. The defence did incredibly well too. Even Steve’s personal dislike of Rumlow didn’t stop him from being impressed. Rumlow consistently stopped their rivals from gaining any ground and was, rightfully, named the game’s most valuable player; though that didn’t half make him gloat.

He was insufferable all evening after the match and made the journey home even more unbearable than the trip out had been. Steve would have traded his nerves for Rumlow’s crowing, any day of the week. It only got worse when they were back on campus Monday morning. Rumlow swanned around like a returning conqueror, which Steve wouldn’t have minded if he gave the rest of the team credit where it was due. But if you listened to him boast, you’d think he won the game single-handedly.

Despite Rumlow and his particular brand of obnoxiousness, Steve was in a pretty good mood. They’d won. Better still, one of their key rivals lost in a landslide defeat: 34 to 3. With just four games left of the regular season, they were actually in a pretty decent position to finish top of their conference. Not that Steve could completely relax. All it meant was that all eyes were now on them, and worse, his name began to appear in articles speculating about the Heisman candidates; which Steve just thought was absurd. If anyone of their team deserved that award, it was Sam, but of course, all the glory lay with the Quarterback, not the guy who made any of Steve’s passes actually possible.

“You’re trending,” Bucky told Steve Tuesday evening as they warmed up for their ballet class. “Or, you were,” he corrected, dipping into an impossibly deep stretch at the barre.

Steve scoffed. “Really?”

“There were some post-match photos circulating Twitter on Saturday. The whole of America’s collectively decided you’re hot stuff.”

This time Steve snorted.

“Well, they’re not wrong.” Bucky gave Steve a wink before flexing his leg up behind his head like _he_ wasn't the literal embodiment of hot stuff.

“Sometimes I'm glad I'm not on Twitter,” Steve sighed.

“You’re not? I thought you'd be all over that.”

“I'm banned.”

Bucky's leg dropped and he spun around to state at Steve. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“Oh, not officially banned. Not by Twitter. The school made me close my account, apparently, I'm ‘too political’.” Steve shrugged. He’d been furious at the time, but now it was water under the bridge. “Plus, I'd be outed in five minutes if I was still on there,” he added with a huff of laughter.

“Probably true.” Bucky grinned back. “I'll just have to keep an eye on the trends for you.” He winked again. “This win puts you top of the leaderboard, right?”

“Yeah, but there's still 4 games left, anything could happen.”

“But, you can relax a little bit now, right?”

“Can't get complacent.” Steve shook his head.

“You could celebrate a little?”

“When the season’s over.”

Bucky gave him a long-suffering smile and decided they were both warmed up enough. “I hear there’re Heisman rumours too.” He wagged his eyebrows at Steve.

“Never gonna happen.”

“Really? You don't think so?”

“Not in a million years. Plenty of guys deserve it more than me.”

“Always so humble. You were number five on the 'who to watch list' I found.”

“You've been googling me?” Steve laughed, feeling his heart flutter in his chest.

“My phone recommended the article.” Bucky shrugged. “…after I'd been googling you all morning. They were great photos, Steve! I may or may not have one as my lock screen.”

Steve narrowed his eyes trying to figure out if Bucky was joking, but Bucky's expression was inscrutable.

“That means there's at least four guys better than me, and only one takes home the trophy.” Steve decided to answer instead.

“Jesus, you really do need to lighten up. Come on let's do some steps, I was gonna teach you some _pas des chats_ this week.”

“Oh, you remember that?”

Bucky pulled a face. “Some? It’s hazy. I was _very_ hungover the next day.” He laughed.

Steve didn't push and ask if Bucky remembered what he’d said about Christmas or New Year. He didn't want to know that Bucky been joking.

“You promised to send me a video of your triple lutz, or whatever it’s called.”

“The _tours_! Yeah, I was. Lemme do that now before I forget.” Bucky grinned and ran to grab his phone from the speaker system. “Now, don't laugh,” Bucky made him promise, bringing his phone back to Steve and turning it on its side.

Bucky was standing in the centre of a dance studio with a few other dancers milling around the edge. He wore a pale grey tank top over very tiny black shorts that were cut like boxer briefs, just skimming the tops of his toned thighs, and nude coloured ballet shoes under ruched black leg warmers. His hair was pulled back from his forehead with an Alice band and he wore a beaming grin on his face.

_“Ready?”_ The onscreen Bucky asked whoever was filming when Bucky pressed play.

_“Go!”_

Steve watched on the phone as Bucky took a deep breath and bounced lightly in preparation. He stepped to his right with his arms in ‘second position’ and twirled in a pirouette before launching himself into a triple spin in the air, sinking gracefully onto one knee to finish with his arms elevated in a flourish. The other dancers whooped and applauded as the cameraman yelled, “ _YEAH!”_

It was only the reaction of the other dancers that let Steve realise how difficult the move must be, that and the pride in Bucky's face. He'd made it look so effortless.

“Wow.” Steve smiled up at Bucky who looked a lot more sheepish than his counterpart in the video.

He shrugged. “Eh. Good party trick.”

“Now who's being humble?” Steve gave Bucky a nudge.

“Yeah, yeah alright.” Bucky’s smile turned into something more authentic and he went to plug the music back on.

Their hour breezed past far too fast, and all too soon they were kissing under the streetlamp and parting ways for the evening.

“See you for lunch tomorrow?” Bucky asked with his hands curled around the lapels of Steve’s jacket.

“Yeah, I should have time to get away for awhile.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” Bucky leant in to give him a last kiss goodnight before he shoved his headphones in and skipped down the street with a wave. Steve watched him go, tracking Bucky’s movements between the streetlights and felt his heartache. Part of him longed to call after Bucky and spend the evening entwined together in his bed with Alpine ready to pounce on them the following morning. The other half of him was utterly terrified of what came next in their definitely-not-but-probably-actually-a relationship. Steve watched until Bucky rounded the corner out of sight and flicked his hood up over his head, trooping home to scour through the course reading that awaited him.

Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on the words on the page. Sharon was out with friends, and Maria and Sam were giddily playing some video game together downstairs. Steve was never quite sure if anything was going on between them, but either way, he didn’t fancy going downstairs to join them. Which is how he found himself sitting cross-legged in bed with his laptop balanced on his knees. He didn’t intend to find his way to YouTube, and he certainly didn’t intend to type ‘NY Ballet Triple Tours’ into the search bar, but he found himself re-watching the video, mesmerised by Bucky’s athleticism and easy grace. When YouTube began to autoplay some more videos from that season, Steve was helpless to switch them off.

There were more rehearsal videos from a huge airy studio filled with dancers being commanded by a strict ballet master. Steve found his eye being repeatedly drawn to Bucky who twirled or leaped across the dance floor every now and again. His hair was shorter than it was now, curling around his ears and across his forehead, but his smile was just as bright. Even standing on the side-lines, stretching out at the barre and grinning with the other dancers, he was the brightest thing in the room. When he ran out of rehearsal clips, Steve scrolled through videos from the company’s actual productions. Despite the lavish costumes and stage make-up, Steve could easily pick Bucky out of any line-up. He stole the limelight whenever he danced, it was beautiful to watch.

He moved with such elegance, making what Steve now knew to be incredibly difficult choreography look so effortless. The way he bounded across the stage in soaring leaps—it made Steve’s breath catch in his chest every time. And the music, god, the way it rose and fell in dramatic sweeping overtures, Steve began to wonder why the hell he’d never watched a ballet before.

“You still up?” A knock at the door tore Steve from his reverie. Sam opened it a crack and poked his head through as Steve hastily shoved his headphones off and angled his laptop away, feeling guilty for cyberstalking Bucky. “Watching porn?” Sam laughed and Steve flushed even more.

“No!” he protested. Sam hurried across the room, quick as a flash, and saw the tab before Steve could minimise it. “Ballet, huh? This Bucky guy's really on your mind.”

“I, er, may have fallen down a YouTube spiral watching all of his old videos,” Steve admitted guilty. “But look at him!” Steve hit play and twisted the laptop around for Sam to see Bucky twirling and leaping around the stage dressed somewhat like a matador with beautiful black tights that hugged his legs and a short black jacket piped with red and silver. He spun in perfect pirouettes like a figure on a music box before leaping and spinning in fluid pirouettes in mid-air, the stage didn’t look large enough to contain him and when he leapt into the ‘ _grand jetés_ ’, he seemed to hang in the air. He finished with a _double-tours_ , landing gracefully on one knee and holding out his hands with a flourish whilst an audience clapped and cheered.

“Alright,” Sam sounded begrudgingly impressed. “He’s got some altitude on those jumps.”

“Maybe I should get him to give you tips for your catches,” Steve laughed.

“What are you saying? Is there something wrong with my game, Rogers?” Sam laughed right back. “I seem to recall making some pretty spectacular catches last match.”

“Yeah, you did.” Steve nudged him and cancelled the next video from auto-playing. When he glanced at it, though his cheeks flushed pink.

“Wait, what’s that?” Sam hijacked the cursor and pressed play before Sam could stop him. “I _knew_ you were watching porn.”

“That’s not—” Steve spluttered, but he trailed off, utterly mesmerised by the video. It was Bucky again, but not like Steve had ever seen him—shirtless, with his hair loose and curling around his jaw, wearing jeans that were folded up to his knees and slung so low across his hips that you could see the deep v of his adonis belt and the pleasing curve of the top of his ass. More to the point, he was pole dancing.

_‘When a male ballet dancer tries pole dancing’_ was the title of the video. It had been uploaded by some third party scouting for hits, with the original video clearly taken from Instagram or Snapchat, judging by the crop. And it was _beautiful_. Classical ballet music swelled in the background as Bucky twirled effortlessly around the pole, flexing every single muscle, muscles Steve didn’t even know _existed_. It was like he’d switched off the laws of gravity for a moment, holding himself upside down against the pole without any visible strain, elongating his legs above him, lowering them with impossible control before flipping himself into some other possible shape.

* * *

**Image** : Bucky pole dancing | **Art by** : [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)

* * *

It might have been pole dancing, but there was nothing sexual about it, it was sheer beauty and elegance, a display of utter physicality; Bucky in his absolute prime. It felt like a privilege to be able to watch it, and at the same time, Steve flushed with guilt. Bucky surely hadn’t meant for Steve to see that; did he even _know_ it was on YouTube? There were 434,000 thousand hits, he had to know, right? But as guilty as he felt, Steve couldn’t stop watching. It was enthralling.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Sam snorted. “Just remember we have training bright and early tomorrow, yeah? Do get _some_ sleep?”

“Right.” Steve shook himself from his trance and blanched when he saw the time. “Yeah. Yeah. Sleep.” He’d meant to go to bed hours ago.

Sam left Steve with a shake of his head and roll of his eyes as Steve scrambled to switch his laptop off and start getting ready for bed.

He couldn’t shake the images of Bucky dancing from his mind though and it played on a loop behind his eyes even when he buried his face in his pillow and tried to force himself to sleep. The problem was, as his brain got foggy with sleep, it started combining the videos with the memory of Bucky’s hands against Steve’s hips, pressing into the small of his back and skating over his thigh to fix the position of his arabesque. It mingled with the taste of Bucky’s lips and feel of his tongue sliding against Steve’s—the feeling of their hips slotting together as they danced a tango—Bucky’s mouth closing around Steve’s cock and sucking his soul out through an orgasm—the drunken whisper of Bucky promising to rim him. All set to crescendoing, swelling music that seemed to mimic the feeling of Steve’s blood rushing south and his cock hardening against his thigh.

Steve rolled onto his front and buried his face into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to ignore it. It felt wrong jerking off to memories of Bucky, that was crossing a few too many personal boundaries wasn’t it? But Steve couldn’t sleep hard, and he couldn’t exactly go and take a cold shower at 1 am. God, how was it gone 1? He needed to be up in less than four hours and he hadn’t had any sleep. He was never going to be able to get through training. He rolled back into his back and stared up the dark expanse of his ceiling, letting one hand fall across his stomach and the other rest limply on the mattress beside him. He shouldn’t. Steve bit his lip. But if he didn’t, he’d certainly never get any sleep. Fuck, it hadn’t even been a sexy video! Steve felt crass that his mind was stuck on the visuals of Bucky’s rippling muscles and imagining what they would feel like pressed against his bare skin. Stuck wishing desperately that they’d gone further than they had when they laid on Bucky’s couch, and later in Bucky’s bed.

Steve fisted a hand through his hair and ground his teeth as the ache in his throbbing cock became too much to bear. When he finally gave in and reached for the lube kept stashed under his bed, he tried not to think of Bucky, but it was hopeless. Bucky was everything Steve had ever wanted and all of Steve’s pleasurable sexual memories started and stopped with him. He skated a hand across his collarbones, suddenly unduly sad that the hickeys had faded, and nearly came just from the memory of Bucky’s sultry voice whispering in Steve’s ear, asking if it was okay to mark him up. But it wasn’t until Steve let his other hand trail down around his ass and tease a gentle circle around his asshole, remembering Bucky’s promise to rim him, that Steve spilled over his hand with a shuddering gasp and a bitten-off moan as his orgasm crashed through him like a linebacker with a grudge.

Steve flopped winded and breathless against his mattress as the world re-oriented itself and his conscience caught up with what he’d just done.

_Fuck_. How the hell was he ever going to face Bucky at lunch tomorrow?

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve overslept. He slept straight through his alarm, straight through Sam knocking on his door. Straight through his second and third alarms, until the sun rose and the world began to brighten through Steve’s drapes.

He bolted out of bed and scrambled for his phone. 7:40 am. He’d missed his run, he was going to miss his weight training, and unless he managed to make it across campus in twenty minutes he was going to be late for the morning team briefing. _Shit._

Steve threw himself out of bed and dressed haphazardly in the first pair of tracksuit trousers and hoodie he could find in his closet, hopping around on one foot whilst he tried to jam his feet into socks and sneakers. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth at lightning pace, and gave up trying to do anything with his hair, he’d shower after practice anyway. The team had seen him with worse helmet hair after a match. He grabbed a banana and a cereal bar from the kitchen cupboards and ran out the door, having to pirouette out of the way of Sharon who was sleepily descending the stairs in her dressing gown.

“ _Jesus,_ Steve,” she grumbled as she pressed herself flat against the wall to avoid being crushed by him. “What are you still doing here?”

“Sorry!” He grabbed his jacket and bounded through the front door, walking very briskly towards the training centre whilst trying not to choke on his hurried breakfast. His nutritionist was going to kill him. Phillips was going to kill him. Sam was going to tease him relentlessly. Steve screwed his eyes shut at that realisation and pressed on, managing to slip into the meeting room at 7:59, hopefully not looking too out of breath or like he’d literally just rolled out of bed.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like shit, Rogers,” Dugan twisted around to whisper at him. Maybe not then, Steve sighed and sunk into any empty chair.

“You missed weights, what happened? You never miss weights,” Gabe looked concerned.

“Overslept,” Steve muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

“You _never_ oversleep. Are you ill? You can’t be ill.” Gabe peered at him.

Steve opened his mouth to answer but was thankfully saved from having to speak when Phillips and the rest of the coaching staff breezed into the room. Steve clamped his mouth shut and settled back into his chair, squinting at them slightly as his eyes tried to focus and he realised he still wasn’t half as awake as he needed to be.

He tried to concentrate as Phillips droned on about the importance of staying focused, of pulling together as a _team, of_ not losing momentum. His eyelids felt like lead, drooping of their own accord even as Steve struggled to keep them open.

“Rogers?” Phillips called his name and Steve snapped back to attention, heart beating rapidly, not completely sure if he had fallen asleep or not.

“Sir?”

“Are you with us?”

“Erm, yes.” Steve coughed to clear his throat and blinked. “We can’t lose momentum, sir,” he parroted back.

Phillips scowled for a second before pressing on. Steve glanced wildly at Sam who was sitting beside him and clearly trying to stifle his laughter with the back of his hand. Steve had to pinch the soft skin on the inside of his forearm to stop himself from drifting off again for the rest of the meeting.

“Oh my god,” Sam exhaled with a laugh as soon as the meeting was dismissed and they all filed towards the locker rooms to get changed ready for training. “How late did you get to sleep last night?”

“Wasn’t that late,” Steve muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Sam sounded unconvinced.

“Why didn’t you wake me up before you left this morning?”

“Oh, I tried. Hammered on your door. I figured you must have left already and forgotten your phone.”

“Someone keeping you up last night, Rogers?” Dugan cut into the conversation, jostling Steve’s shoulders.

“No, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Pity.”

“Just…got a lot on my mind.”

“Bet your beau could help you take a load off,” Gabe winked as he sidled past to get to his locker.

“Or just take a load!” Dugan guffawed and Steve smacked him with a whip of his shirt.

“Bet he’d help clear your _head_ ,” Morita joined in, laughing.

They descended into trading innuendos which were no longer directed at Steve, just aimed at being as crude as possible as they geared up for their training session. Steve tried to blot them out, but he felt his face burning with a blush.

“All right, knock it off.” Steve tried to call them to order. “You heard Phillips, we need to focus.”

Of course, that did nothing to dissuade them, it only encouraged them more if anything. It turned out Dugan could turn almost anything into an innuendo, and suddenly everything Steve said in the team huddle sounded dirty.

As team training sessions went, it certainly wasn’t their best. Steve was exhausted, he fumbled a few throws and made some terrible calls, which made him even more stressed out and anxious. Not to mention the constant stream of lewd jokes was making him feel uncomfortable. Rumlow noticed that Steve was a little off his game, and used that to fully press his advantage, knocking Steve flat on his back at every turn, winding him and attacking him with extra jabs from his elbows and knees wherever possible. Steve felt rattled and battered and bruised. He’d never been so relieved when Phillips called time and they all trooped back towards the showers.

“Rogers!” Phillips called him over and Steve sloped towards him on the side-lines. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Sorry, sir. Just…not feeling one hundred percent. I think I might be coming down with something,” Steve lied, it was easier than explaining his sleepless night and bundle of nerves.

“Well kick it quick. We need your A-game on Saturday. Duffy!” Phillips called over one of his assistants. “Get Rogers excused from the rest of his classes this week.”

“Oh no, sir, that’s not—” Steve tried to protest, but Phillips just held up a stern finger.

“Don’t argue with me, boy. You’re no use to me if you’re ill or distracted.” Phillips levelled him with a glare, that softened by a degree when he saw that Steve looked suitably chastised. “We could win the Championship this year, I really believe that. But only if you’re focused.”

Steve nodded.

“You still going to those ballet lessons?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They appear to be working. Discounting today, you’ve been much quicker on your feet. If they’re a strain on your time I can—”

“No, they’re not,” Steve answered quickly, maybe too quickly. “It’s fine, Sir. Thank you. But I’ve got a handle on it. I’ll be fine.”

Phillips’ scowl didn’t look convinced but he nodded and turned his attention back to his clipboard in a clear sign of dismissal. Steve fled before he could change his mind.

Rumlow was waiting for Steve in the tunnel back to the locker room and something about his expression told Steve he’d heard every word.

“Need special treatment, Rogers?” Rumlow sneered. “Why can’t you man up like the rest of us? That’s right, cause your not a real man, are you? Fucking pansy.”

Steve squared up to Rumlow and felt his hands ball into fists by his side. “Brock,” he growled in a warning tone. His anger bubbled to boiling point and it would have been so easy to lash out and punch him, but Steve drew back. It wasn’t worth it. Rumlow wasn’t worth any of Steve’s anger. He stepped back, shaking his head, and turned on his heel to stalk away.

“That’s it! Run away!” Rumlow jeered after him. Steve didn’t even turn back, he just flipped Rumlow the bird and stormed into the showers.

He stood under the warm spray for ages, letting the heat sink into his bones and wash away the aches and pains. Slowly the sounds from the locker room faded as everyone emptied out for their lunch break, and it was only when Steve was pretty certain he was the last one left that he finally stepped out and towelled himself off. He dressed quickly, realising with dismay that his grey and orange track pants didn’t really go with the dark green hoodie he’d grabbed that morning.

By contrast, Bucky was waiting for him outside looking very well put together in a cosy grey turtleneck under his leather jacket, and the black skinny jeans and combat boot combo that Steve loved so much. He looked stunning and Steve was suddenly reminded of _why_ he’d had such a difficult time falling asleep last night.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted Steve with a warm smile, which turned a little concerned when Steve stepped closer. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve ran a hand through his hair which was still fluff from his shower, god he must have looked such a mess. “Rough morning.” He could barely look Bucky in the eye, he felt so embarrassed.

“Looks like it. C’mere.” Bucky pulled Steve in for a hug and despite himself, Steve melted into it. Bucky gave him a squeeze and pressed a very discrete kiss to Steve’s neck before he pulled away. Though it had been fleeting, it was exactly what Steve needed and he ached for Bucky’s touch after it had gone. “Want something completely hearty and not on your meal plan for lunch?”

“Yes please.” He’d already screwed up the day by skipping a proper breakfast, which was probably why he’d played so terribly, now he came to think about it.

“Come on then, that diner with the perfect pancakes is only around the corner.”

Steve let Bucky loop their arms together and drag him away from campus, feeling lighter with every step. The diner was only half full and they managed to snag a table by the window. Bucky slid onto the bench across from Steve and shrugged his jacket off, immediately picking up the menu and rattling off all his favourites. Steve watched Bucky for a moment, before reluctantly tearing his eyes away to scan the menu for himself. He quickly realised there were no healthy options available, but he supposed that was to be expected. He ordered his pancakes stacked high with fruit and peanut butter which made him feel a little better about them, and Bucky graciously didn’t say anything when Steve stole a couple of his rashers of bacon. He could also grab a vegetable smoothie from the training centre cafeteria and load it with some more protein powder if he felt himself start to flake in the afternoon, Steve rationalised. After the morning he’d had, he deserved a break from routine.

“Wanna talk about it?” Bucky asked.

“About what?”

“Your terrible morning.” Bucky’s mouth quirked into a smile as he dragged a forkful of pancake through some syrup.

Steve shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to spoil his lunch hour with Bucky, but he found himself sighing anyway. “Training was awful. I fumbled every throw.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“I did. It was a disaster.”

“Well, you know what they say?”

Steve glanced up at Bucky with an inquisitive expression.

“A bad dress rehearsal means you’ll have a great opening night. Or in your case, a bad training session means a great game on Saturday.” Bucky grinned and gave Steve’s foot a gentle kick under the table.

“I don’t think it’s quite the same,” Steve said, but he found himself smiling.

“Not with that attitude.”

Steve hummed a soft laugh and shook his head. He kept his eyes fixed on Bucky, who looked so carefree, lounging across the table from him. It was warm in the diner, Bucky had pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and his cheeks were flooded with a rosy glow. How did he always look so perfect? And how did he always know what to say to cheer Steve up?

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?”

“You’re already helping.” Steve kicked Bucky back with a tender kick. “My footwork’s much better. I just need to get a decent night’s sleep and stop worrying about everything so much.”

“Which, I believe, is what I keep telling you. Did you give my tried and tested method a go?” Bucky leant across the table to ask with a smirk and a wink.

Steve’s blush betrayed him and he found himself suddenly very interested in his drink.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky grinned. “Did it work? What did you think about?”

“I’m not telling you.” Steve hissed back, affronted.

“Was it me? You can tell me if it was.” Bucky looked absolutely delighted by the turn of the conversation whilst Steve found himself sweating in his hoodie.

“That’s not…weird?” He stared across at Bucky, feeling like the completely inexperienced dolt he was.

“Steve,” Bucky’s hand reached across the table to cover Steve’s and squeeze it gently. “We’re practically dating. It’s perfectly normal to fantasise about your boyfriend. And y’know, if you have any particular fantasies, you can tell me and they might even come true,” he added in a stage whisper, cupping his hand around his mouth and giving Steve a wicked smile.

“Yeah? Do you have any, uh, fantasies? About,” Steve could hardly even say it, “me?”

“You know I do, I believe I waxed lyrical about some to you over the phone on Halloween,” Bucky laughed. “Which I’m still sorry about, by the way.”

“Yeah, but you were drunk.” Steve protested.

“Drunk words, sober thoughts, isn’t that what they say?”

Steve faltered. Did that mean…that everything else Bucky had said was true as well?

“I’m not gonna act on any of them though.” Bucky gave Steve’s hand another squeeze and brushed his thumb across the joint of Steve’s thumb. “Not until you’re ready.”

Steve’s tongue felt thick in his throat. “What if I’m never ready?” It was an anxiety that had been lurking deep at the back of Steve’s mind ever since that first kiss under the streetlamp, but it was only now that it resolved itself from a swirling mist of uncertainty that permanently fogged up Steve’s head into something tangible.

“Then you’re never ready.” Bucky shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Christ, Steve. I’m never gonna get you to do something you don’t want to do. Except some more grand pliés,” he added with a smirk. “I know how much you hate those.”

“They’re unnatural!” Steve laughed, latching on the subject change. “Knees aren’t meant to bend that way.”

“Nothing about ballet is _natural_ ,” Bucky laughed back. “It’s torture disguised as art.”

“When you put it like _that,_ ” he smiled, “sign me up!” Steve pushed some of his pancakes around his plate and picked at the fruit a little more. “These are great pancakes.”

“I told ya. They’re not quite as good as mine. But you’ll have to stay over again if you want those,” Bucky winked.

“I want to,” Steve answered before he could second guess himself. “I’m just—”

“Busy, I know. If I had half of your schedule I think I’d’ve burned out long before now,” Bucky gave a huff of something that wasn’t quite laughter. “You can always call me, you know? If you have trouble sleeping again?”

Steve lifted his gaze to scrutinise Bucky’s expression. The offer looked genuine.

“I live on a different timetable to you, I doubt you’d be keeping me awake.” The corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes sparkled with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Steve, has it occurred to you that I _like_ talking to you? That I loved it when you called me on Halloween? It was the best part of that stupid party.”

“You looked like you were having fun,” Steve’s brows pulled taut in confusion.

“I _was_ and I still liked talking to you more.” Bucky arched his eyebrows, waiting for Steve to understand what he was saying. “Anyway, it’s getting late. We should probably head back.”

Steve checked the time with a lurch and realised he was running the risk of being late, _again_. Today was obviously just going to be one of those days. But, thanks to Bucky and his enduring—and inexplicable—kindness, it hadn’t been a total disaster.

“Thank you for lunch, I,” Steve faltered, staring longingly at Bucky’s lips as they lingered outside the doors to the training centre. Although Bucky was running late himself he’d still walked Steve back, and there was nothing Steve wanted more than a parting kiss, though he knew it was impossible. “I really needed that.”

“Glad I could help.” Bucky pulled Steve in for a hug, squeezing hard to make up for how quickly he had to pull back. “And call me, whenever you need to.” Bucky stepped back. His gaze dropped to Steve’s mouth and Steve was certain if they were alone, he would have got his wish.

But they weren’t, and the fates were not in Steve’s favour that day, because Rumlow chose that exact moment to return from lunch. He made a big show of scowling at Steve as he brushed passed, like a passive aggressive high-schooler with a grudge.

Bucky frowned after him, but Steve was quick to shake his head. It wasn’t worth it.

“I’ll call you later, then? And we’ll try and meet up on Sunday, or something?” Steve called Bucky’s attention back to him. Bucky was still frowning, but the expression melted as soon as he registered what Steve had said.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something out.” He glanced around to check that the coast was clear now and blew Steve a quick kiss, which wasn’t half as good as the real thing, but still sparked something warm in his chest. Steve didn’t mime catching it and tucking the kiss into his pocket, not physically, but mentally he tucked that kiss close to his heart.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve never liked reviewing footage of past games. Watching himself on screen and having his decisions picked apart by committee was _not_ his idea of fun, he’d have much rather spent all evening practising his grand pliés. Much rather. But it was useful to get a feel for the team they’d be playing against on Saturday. There were rumours that a couple of their key players were out with injuries, so they trawled through game footage for clips of their replacements and tried to piece together how their tactics might be altered to compensate.

That kind of strategizing was what Steve thrived on and he lost time going over plays with his squad, long after the coaching staff had called it a day, until Dugan gave a pantomime yawn and announced it was getting far too late and he was going home.

“Shit, sorry.” Steve glanced at the clock and realised he’d kept them all after 9pm. “Yeah, go. Everyone get some sleep. I think we’ve got this game in the bag.”

“Get some sleep yourself, yeah?” Gabe made Steve promise as Steve started packing up the AV equipment.

“I’ll try.” Steve flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Everyone filed out quickly until it was just Steve and Sam left to lock up. Steve pulled his jacket over his hoodie and zipped it up to his chin, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as they stepped outside. The temperature had plummeted in recent days and there was a snowstorm brewing, Steve could smell it in the air. It was going to be a cold game on Saturday. He made a mental note to dig out the Vaseline and hand warmers in preparation.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Sam asked as they cut across campus towards their house. “I know we tease, but, we do care.”

“I know.” Steve chewed on his zip and glanced over at Sam, smiling beneath his collar, hoping Sam could see it from his eyes.

“And if we do…cross any lines you don’t want crossing, you’d let us know? Things got a bit…crude this morning.”

“Sam, it’s fine. Locker room stuff. I can handle it.”

“Yeah.” Sam scuffed his feet. “I hate all that though.”

“Me too. But it’s certainly not the worst I’ve ever heard. Dugan’s harmless.”

“How d’you do it? Stay above all that?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess…” There wasn’t an easy answer. “It’s all just about wanting to fit in. I’ve never been any good at that, so I’ve never tried.” He laughed a little.

Sam snorted. “You’re something else, alright, Rogers.” Sam laughed. “You should invite Bucky round to ours sometime. I’d like to meet him when I’m not drunk.” Sam said after a little while.

“Yeah, I will. I was thinking of inviting him round on Sunday actually.”

“Oh yeah? How’s he at Madden?”

“Don’t know,” Steve answered honestly. Thinking back, he didn’t recall seeing an Xbox or a PlayStation in Bucky’s apartment, but then he hadn’t been focused on the TV.

“Is there a ballet game, do you think?”

“Like, press ‘x’ to pirouette?” Steve laughed. “Don’t think there is.”

“Should be.”

They ate a quick dinner and caught up with the Great British Bake-off which was precisely the kind of mindless, low-stakes show he needed to take his mind off the up-coming game. But when Sharon and Maria started watching another reality TV show, Steve excused himself to go to bed.

Ordinarily, he would have been faced with a mountain of reading and notes to review, but with his lessons cancelled, Steve felt at a loss. He’d been furious with Phillips for pulling him out of his lessons at the time, but his professors had all been really lenient about it. They’d even emailed him their notes for Thursday and Friday’s lessons (along with well-wishes for that week’s game) so he didn’t have to ask around to catch up. He wasn’t even sure who he could ask to borrow notes from. There weren’t many people on his course that Steve was friends with, he missed too much class time, never had time to make it to the study groups or socials, and he was fairly certain they resented him for the assignment extensions his professors doled out for him. He didn’t blame them, but whilst part of him felt guilty, Steve had to admit that it was a relief not to be stressing about reading three chapters of a textbook and a couple of journal articles before tomorrow morning. Once he skimmed their notes tomorrow, he could get started on the reading due for _next_ week and not feel like he was on the back foot all the time.

It felt strange crawling into bed without the nagging guilt of unfinished work, and Steve didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and stared at it for a long moment, wondering if he really should call Bucky or not. Before he’d fully convinced himself, either way, it started buzzing in his palm, illuminated with Bucky’s name and his display picture; the selfie he’d sent of himself tailgating with the school colours painted on his cheek. Steve smiled automatically as he answered it.

“Hey, Bucky.”

“It’s not too late is it?”

“No, I’m just getting into bed.”

“Oh good. I thought maybe you’d chickened out of calling.”

“I was just debating with myself,” Steve admitted and Bucky laughed softly on the other end of the phone.

“Well good thing I decided to take matters into my own hands, then?”

“Yeah, probably.” Steve slouched against the headboard and made himself comfortable against the pillows.

“Who was that asshole we ran into outside the training centre?”

“Oh, Rumlow. Yeah, he’s a real jerk. A bigoted prick who doesn’t seem to understand we’re playing for the same team.”

“Want me to punch him for you?” Bucky asked, sounding deadly serious. Steve laughed.

“Unfortunately, he’s our star middle linebacker—or else I’d punch him myself.”

“Huh,” Bucky sounded surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing, just thought you’d be one of those ‘violence isn’t the answer’, types.”

“Violence isn’t the _only_ answer, and it shouldn’t be the first. But I’m done trying to reason with him. Some people just don’t want to be reasoned with.” Steve sighed. “If we didn’t need him to win and if it wouldn’t wreck my career…then,” he trailed off. The truth was, he would have punched Rumlow years ago if he could get away with it. It was nothing less than the asshole deserved. “You should have seen me in middle school,” Steve said instead. “I busted my nose and split my lip so many times my mom started only buying red t-shirts for me so the blood wouldn’t show. I never did know when to back down from a fight.”

“Now that I’d _love_ to see.” Bucky sounded awed and delighted. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Steve gave a non-committal noise in response. He was full of disappointments, usually.

“Well if you do decide to give him what for post-championships and post-you-getting-drafted, please make sure I can come and watch. I’ll hold your flower.”

“My what?” That didn’t track.

“Like the meme? ‘Kick his ass, baby, I got yo flower’?” Bucky asked.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Not only are you not on Twitter, but you don’t get obscure internet references from circa 2013?” Bucky sighed with mock annoyance. “Whatever will I do with you?” he laughed. “Did you at least have a better afternoon than your morning?”

“Eh. Yeah. Not that it was hard to be. How was yours?” Steve would much rather hear about Bucky’s day than rehash his own.

“Productive.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Got a lot of grading done and I managed to help Nat figure out her choreography for the Winter Showcase.”

“What’s that?”

“Typical.” Bucky huffed, but again he didn’t sound like he was really annoyed. “The whole school lives and breathes football, but when the performing arts departments try to do anything, there’s always zero interest.” Steve could almost hear Bucky rolling his eyes. “We do a showcase every year on the last day of term. Dance, music, some drama.”

“Are you in it?”

“Well, not technically. It’s for the undergrad students—but I’m partnering Nat. She doesn’t trust anyone else with the lifts. And, honestly,” Bucky dropped his voice like they were conspiring. “No one else _wants_ to be responsible for her lifts. She has some bold ideas.” He finished with a laugh.

“I’d like to come and see that.”

“You should definitely come! I was gonna ask you a little closer to it, but I didn’t know how busy you’d be with football stuff.”

“I’m sure I can make time for that,” Steve slumped further into his pillows and grabbed one to hold against his chest. Not for the first time, or even the first time that evening, Steve bemoaned how much of his time was taken up by ‘football stuff’. He wished he had more free time to spend with Bucky, wished it didn’t always have to be Bucky adapting to fit _his_ timetable. But even if he was busy, Steve wasn’t about to pass up a chance to see Bucky dance properly. He told Bucky as much, glad Bucky couldn’t see his blush as he spoke. “I’d love to see you dance properly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re so talented, Bucky. I, uh, found some of more of your videos on YouTube yesterday,” he admitted. “Kind of lost track of time watching them.”

“Is that right?” Bucky sounded a little smug and Steve could picture his smirk perfectly. “That’s what you were watching yesterday?”

Steve’s blush went from pink to scarlet. You could fry an egg on his cheeks from how much they were burning. “No! Not like that, god,” Steve spluttered.

“I’m only messing with you,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve hid his face behind his pillow, even though Bucky couldn’t actually see him.

“Do you miss it? Performing?” he asked.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. Steve heard some shuffling from Bucky’s end of the phone.

“Yeah, I do,” he said eventually with a wistful tone. “I really do.”

“Would you ever go back?”

“I don’t think I could, I’m too out of shape.”

Steve snorted at that. “There’s no way you’re out of shape.”

“Eight shows a week plus rehearsals takes a different level of fitness,” Bucky protested. “Plus, I’ve lost my tolerance for pain. Not sure I could stand to build it up again.” He huffed a dry laugh.

“It’s really that painful?”

“I used to take so much Advil on a daily basis that I had to keep switching up the brand I used just so it didn’t lose its effect.” Bucky snorted. “You can’t stop, no matter how painful it is, you have to power through. And you get no sympathy. I used to spend hours after each show with my feet in buckets of ice. My toenails were always black and blue and I layered up with ankle bandages in rehearsals to take some of the strain off. I think most of the corns and calluses have started to fade now, but there’s a reason I own so many pairs of fluffy socks, Steve. My feet are _wrecked_ , so yeah. I miss performing, of course, I do. But I couldn’t go back to doing it full time. Football must be similar though?”

“Erm, no?” Steve sounded horrified hearing Bucky talk so casually about being in pain like that. “If you get injured you’re meant to stop playing so you don’t risk making it worse.”

“ _Meant_ to?”

“Sometimes it’s the last down of the game, and you just have to ignore the twinge in your knee to ensure you make that Hail Mary pass,” Steve replied with a sly lilt. But it was hardly the same. There were teams of physios dedicated to making sure he didn’t injure himself too strenuously, or that if he did it was treated immediately.

“Yeah, that sounds like you.” Bucky snorted.

“And I don’t want to know how much sports tape I get through in a week.” He laughed. Sometimes it felt like he was wearing an extra underlayer of KT Tape. Which Steve had to admit was helpful when they had to play in sub-zero temperatures. “At least ballet theatres are always warm, I guess?”

“Usually,” Bucky allowed. “I always wondered, how the hell do you play in the snow?”

“Layers. Lots and lots of layers. And hand warmers, everywhere. Best invention since…ever. I normally wear a couple in my shoes, my gloves, my helmet.” Steve laughed. “Sam’s been known to stuff a couple in his pants before. It looks like it’s going to snow before this weekend, so that’s going to make it interesting.”

“But I’ve seen people playing sleeveless before? I’ve seen _you_ play sleeveless in the snow before.”

Steve gave a dark chuckle. “Sometimes you’ve got to intimidate the other team a little, especially if they’re from the south and don’t know what true cold feels like.”

“But how?”

“Vaseline. Like when people go cold water swimming, you know? You lather it on, it makes everything sticky but it keeps you warm.”

“Vaseline?” Bucky sounded incredulous. “You’re telling me, that when I’m watching you run around in the cold, with those glorious arms on display—you’re all slicked up in petroleum jelly?”

Steve had to laugh.

“I think I need a minute.”

“It’s not as attractive as it sounds,” Steve tried to explain.

“Don’t ruin this for me, Steve.” Bucky teased and Steve felt himself getting flustered. His thoughts were still stuck on the fact that Bucky thought his arms were ‘glorious’.

“We have heated benches too, and sideline heaters.” He tried to steer the conversation back to a less embarrassing territory. “You know, Dugan stood far too close to one of the heaters once and his gloves started to melt. We had to cut him out with medical scissors. He was fine—but rattled, not the best mentality to start a first down.”

“I imagine not.”

The conversation lulled for a moment, and Steve sunk even lower into his pillows, practically horizontal. His bedside lamp spilled a soft yellow glow across half of the room, catching in the twisted covers that were tangled around his legs and bouncing off the mirror that stood beside his wardrobe. He listened to Bucky breathing gently from the other end of the phone line and realised he found himself fighting back a yawn.

“Getting sleepy?” Bucky asked him, talking softer now.

“Yeah, I think I might turn in. Early start tomorrow.”

“I thought Phillips made you take the day off?”

“But I still want to go for a run, and then I’ve got weight training, and I’ve got all of next week’s work to get started on—”

“Jesus, Steve. You need to take a day off. Do nothing without feeling guilty about it.”

Steve sighed and screwed his eyes shut, dragging his free hand through his hair. “I can’t. Not ‘til after the game.”

“Sunday, then? Promise me you’ll do nothing for a change?”

“I can try. Want to come and do nothing with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Bucky sounded like he was beaming, and it made Steve smile too.

“Sunday then.”

“Good luck on Saturday. Don’t break a leg. And you know I’m going to be thinking about you all covered in Vaseline, right?”

Steve buried his face in his pillow and flushed self-consciously. “Good night, Bucky.” Then, softer, “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too. Goodnight Steve.”

The line clicked off and Steve let the phone fall from his hand onto the pillow beside him. He let out a deep exhale and stared up at the ceiling. Bucky was going to be the death of him, in the best possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) for this amazing art!!! 😍😍😍 I love it so much. ko's planning to add some more art for this fic, so follow her on tumblr to make sure you don't miss it 💙


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve snapped a photo of the campus dusted under the snow and sent it to Bucky, assuming it would be a few hours before Bucky woke up and texted him back. So, he was very surprised when it buzzed in his pocket a few minutes later with a reply from Bucky, accompanied by a selfie. Bucky was still in bed, sprawled amongst his pillows, his beautiful hair strewn behind him and Alpine dozing beside him; curled in close under his armpit. Steve had never felt more jealous of a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who helped me figure out this chapter 💙💙💙 and thanks to [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com) for the wonderful art! 
> 
> Please note the **updated tags**. I wasn't intending to add a d/s element when I started writing this, but it's developed naturally and it seemed like the right direction to go in this chapter. Sorry if it's not your thing, but it isn't going to change very much between them--it's just put a label on the dynamic that was already there 😊 and I promise this chapter is just as _softe_ and sweet as always. If you're worried, there's more details in the end notes. 
> 
> I'm very nervous about posting this chapter, so I hope you like it 😅

It started snowing mid-afternoon on Thursday and didn’t show any signs of letting up overnight. The campus was quickly dusted with 3 inches of snow that covered the grassy quads, clung to the bare branches of the trees, and settled onto the boughs of the evergreens that lined the pathways. It looked picturesque and pristine on Friday morning when Steve stepped outside for his morning run; like a winter wonderland trapped in a snow globe.

It was too early for any other students to have ventured outside, and even the snowplows hadn’t made a dent in the roads yet, so Steve took it easy—not wanting to slip in the ice, or strain his lungs; strolling, around the campus rather than running at his usual pace. His breath billowed before him, transforming into ice crystals the moment it left his lips to dance prettily away on the air. With sunrise still a faint suggestion below the horizon, everything was tinged with a faint lavender glow. It was beautiful, and Steve wished he could let himself enjoy it properly, without worrying how it would affect the game on Saturday. There was under-soil heating that prevented the pitch from freezing, but it was never as fun to play in the slush and if it carried on snowing like it was, visibility was going to be shocking.

He snapped a photo of the campus dusted under the snow and sent it to Bucky, assuming it would be a few hours before Bucky woke up and texted him back. So, he was very surprised when it buzzed in his pocket a few minutes later with a reply from Bucky, accompanied by a selfie. Bucky was still in bed, sprawled amongst his pillows, his beautiful hair strewn behind him and Alpine dozing beside him; curled in close under his armpit. Steve had never felt more jealous of a cat.

* * *

**Image** : Bucky's selfie | **Art by** : [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)

* * *

**Bucky** (06:59): 😱 You’re out running in THAT?

Steve smiled fondly and saved the selfie to his phone. Bucky’s bed looked so warm and inviting, and the sleepy smile on Bucky’s face, with his one eye screwed shut and the other squinting at the screen, was too adorable. Another message came through whilst Steve was still staring at the image with a dopey, lovesick smile of his own.

**Bucky** (07:02): think I’ll stay in bed a little longer

**Bucky** (07:02): wish you were here with me xxx

Steve’s breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with his asthma. He wanted that too, he realised. He longed to wake up next to Bucky again. He was still scared of what spending another full night with Bucky might entail, embarrassed by his own inexperience, and worried that he wouldn’t know what to do. But he knew Bucky’s promises to take things slow were genuine, and the longer it had been since Steve had fallen asleep wrapped around the comforting warmth of Bucky’s body, the more Steve realised he missed it.

**Steve** (07:03): me too x

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Training was just as cold as Steve feared it would be. He layered up as much as he could for practise and filled his shoes, his helmet, his leggings with as many hand warmers as he could—short of strapping extras to his body with KT tape; though it was a tempting thought as the snow continued to fall. When Phillips called time on Friday evening and sent them home with stern instructions to rest up before the game, Steve felt frozen to his core. And that was after the constant movement of practise, not the start-stop nature of a real match. Standing on the side-lines as their defensive team took to the field was always the worst. You had to take great care not to let your muscles get cold and seize up, right before you were expected to re-take to the field and explode into action again. All the thick coats, benchwarmers, and side liner heaters in the world didn’t compare to the physical exertion of playing.

The temperature dropped even further and it snowed again on Friday night. Steve sat by his window watching the flurries of snow illuminated by the streetlamp outside, restless, listless, and full of nerves. He knew he needed to sleep, but the more he worried about it, the more elusive sleep became, and tossing and turning in an empty bed was wholly unappealing. He tried to lose himself in the swirling patterns of the snow, but Steve had never been able to just switch off his mind. He hadn’t even been able to use his ‘free time’ over the last two days to relax. Phillips might have cancelled his classes for him, but all that had only resulted in Steve spending every waking hour, not on the football field, holed up in the library reading through his lecture notes, going over next week’s reading, and trying to make a start on the next batch of essays. He was exhausted. In the back of his mind, could feel himself teetering on the verge of a burnout, but he kept telling himself he only had to struggle for a bit longer. 

He sat with his phone cradled in his hand and his textbooks lying ignored on his desk for a full twenty minutes whilst his mind spun and reeled before he eventually mustered the courage to call Bucky. Even just hearing Bucky’s voice sent a wave of calm washing over Steve. At Bucky’s behest, Steve abandoned his notes and crawled into bed. He finally managed to doze off around midnight, with Bucky still talking calming nonsense to him from the other end of the phone, and his sense of restless longing was partly sated. Though it spiked again the following morning. Stave half hoped Bucky might still be on the call when he woke, but of course, Bucky had sensibly hung up at some point after Steve was sound asleep. Steve stared down at the dark glass of his phone screen feeling his chest ache with a pang of melancholy until he pulled himself together and forced himself out of bed.

Problems sleeping weren’t new to Steve, but it never had been because he was sleeping in an empty bed. In fact, he’d never considered it as being ‘empty’ before, but when he glanced down at the rucked seats and pillows knocked askew, he remembered the sight of Bucky tangled in his sheets from a few weeks ago, and it certainly _looked_ empty. Felt empty too. There was a strange hollow feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach, one that had been there since Wednesday, and Steve realised with a jolt that he _missed_ Bucky. Even though they’d spent hours talking to each other the night before, Steve still missed him.

It pulled him up short, and he sat back down on the bed with a thump. He scratched at his collarbones, letting his thumb rest in the divot at the base of his throat. He’d never missed anyone like that before, never really understood the concept that missing someone could feel like an ache. He didn’t like it, it made him feel wrong-footed and… _off_...all throughout the pre-game training. 

It wasn’t until a message came through, half an hour before kick-off like always, that Steve felt like he found his centre again.

**Bucky** (12:27): Don’t break a leg! xxxx

There was a photo attached too: not a selfie this time, Bucky was standing in the centre of a small group of people, with his arm thrown around Nat and Clint on one side and a few others Steve didn’t recognise on the other. He was wrapped up in a slim fit puffer jacket with a school scarf wound around his neck and the ends stuffed into the zip, and a light grey knit beanie pulled over his curls. Despite the layers, the tip of his nose looked pink from the cold but he was grinning broadly. Steve couldn’t help but smile back in response.

**Steve** (12:28): Thanks Buck 😘

He stared at the photo a little longer and zoomed in to focus more on Bucky’s smiling face before he forced himself to switch off his phone and stow it safely in his kit bag. Around him, the locker room was chaos, as always; with plenty of bravado to make up for the nerves that plagued everyone. Steve tried to blot everyone out and started going through the plays they’d planned out for that game, balancing the delicate knife’s edge between overthinking and being prepared.

“Game time.” Sam jostled him out of his reverie. “You good?”

Steve nodded. He’d been a ball of jittery nerves all morning, but Bucky’s text of encouragement had helped to settle him. Steve didn’t want to pry too much into why that was, he was just grateful he was finally getting a handle of the swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach.

Sam extended a hand to haul Steve to his feet and bumped their heavily padded shoulders together with a grin. Like Steve, and most of the rest of the team, Sam had also opted for a short-sleeve shirt, aiming to intimidate their opposition. They were playing a non-conference team, more used to the sunnier climes of the southern states, and who hopefully wouldn’t be able to cope with the snow. Whilst this game wouldn’t affect their shot at winning the conference, it could make or break their national standings and with the CFP rankings due to be released the following week, there was a _lot_ riding on how they played. 

“Is it still snowing?” Steve asked. 

“Just stopped. Thank _god_ , didn’t think we’d be able to see a thing otherwise.”

Steve nodded again.

“We’ve got this,” Sam gave Steve another grin. “They’re no match for us, especially not with their Cornerback benched like we’d hoped. You can run rings around their defence any day of the week. It’s in the bag, Steve.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

Sam helped haul Steve to his feet and after letting Steve grab his helmet and gloves, chivvied him towards the door.

It might have stopped snowing, but the cold was still bracing. Steve focused on breathing in through his nose rather than his mouth, letting the air warm up as much as it could before it hit his lungs. The temperature was hovering around the 31°F mark. He didn’t normally need to worry about the cold triggering his asthma until it dropped to 10°F, but he still wasn’t taking any chances. He knocked the outside of his right ankle into the left shin, reassuring himself that his inhaler was still tucked safely into the strap of his shin guard. He’d never needed to use it in a game so far; touch wood today would be no different. He didn’t think it would be. 

Although the temperature was literally freezing, the stadium was still packed full and the roar of the crowd at kick-off was deafening. The game started with a pedestrian touchback that put Steve at the 25-yard line for the first real play of the game. He managed to summon something encouraging to say to his team in the huddle, although he forgot what he’d said the moment he’d spoken, then jumped up and down on the spot to get his blood pumping as his team moved into their positions. As they geared up for the first down of the game, Steve locked eyes with the opposing defensive line, staring each of them down in turn. They looked terrified and frozen to half to death already. One of them was already shivering.

Steve felt his mouth quirk up into a smile. The whistle sounded, he called, “Hut!” and his team accelerated into action. He caught the snap from Dugan, already running back and to his left, looking for an opening from Sam who was far quicker off the mark than the defenders who were meant to be marking him. Sam safely caught the ball and rushed it forwards, gaining them another 50 yards off the first pass, before the opposing Safety finally managed to tackle him to the ground and put an end to that particular advance.

The stadium erupted into a deafening cheer. Steve glanced up at the student section, watching the blur of faces jump up and down and wave flags in celebration. He couldn’t make out Bucky in the sea of faces, but he knew he was there somewhere, cheering Steve on, and the knowledge buoyed him, filling him with a warmth that outshone any of the hand warmers strapped about his person.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

By all accounts, it was an easy game. Their opponents couldn’t cope with the cold and they were flagging after the first quarter. It started to snow again at halftime, and as they entered the fourth quarter the pitch was a whiteout. Although it paved the way for lots of easy points, it did mean that every tackle to the floor was bracing. They might have been the better team, and Steve’s footwork might have been better than ever, but he still suffered his share of tackles that sent him colliding with the frozen ground and knocked the breath from his lungs every time.

It would all be over soon, he consoled himself as he picked himself up and dusted himself off for a third down in the closing seconds of the match, just shy of the five-yard line and within touching distance of finishing the match out 65-7. The cold air nipped at his skin and Steve once again questioned his choice of wearing short sleeves. His arms were pricked with goosebumps and even slathered in Vaseline, his skin felt pink and raw with the cold. He ground his teeth to stop himself from visibly chattering and willed his voice to sound steady as he called the play.

Dugan snapped back and Steve feinted left before charging right, looking for Maximoff or Morita to throw to. They were both tangled up in the defence and Steve spotted a line-backer tearing towards him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t hesitate to second guess himself. Tucking the ball securely under his arm, he rushed forward himself, dancing lightly between two defenders who were holding Dugan and Jones back. He felt someone bearing on him from behind, so he threw himself forwards, using all of the power and technique Bucky had been drilling into his ballet jumps over the last few weeks and launched himself into the endzone to score a touchdown. 

He skidded through the snow on his stomach and screwed his eyes shut against the flurry that kicked up around him, flying through the grill in his helmet into his eyes, nose, and mouth with a burning cold. Much too late to matter, the linebacker fell on top of him, and then all of Steve’s team were piling on top of him as well in celebration. Steve let them, aching and dazed, and just happy that the match was over.

“Wanted to steal some extra limelight, huh?” someone laughed as they hauled Steve to his feet before someone else just shrieked, “YEAH!” and threw a handful of snow in his face.

They ran the last few seconds down on the clock, setting up to kick the ball through the uprights for their extra point, taking their score to 72-7. A conclusive victory, which had to count for something in the rankings. Steve did feel a little guilty as he shook hands with the opposing captain post-match. It wasn’t exactly sportsmanlike to run up the score too much during an obviously lopsided match. But with his team still giddily dancing around the pitch and throwing half-formed snowballs at each other in celebration, he couldn’t feel _too_ bad. Especially not when it put them one step closer to the championship, and one step closer to Steve feeling like he could come out without risking the reputation of queer sports players everywhere.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

They headed to their usual bar to celebrate afterwards, fighting through what was effectively now a blizzard. Steve didn’t know how anyone else had the energy to drink, or dance, or flirt. He felt wiped out, and still a little frozen after the match. Someone shoved a drink of something cold, clear, and _strong_ into his hand and he made a paltry effort of sipping at it whilst conversations and loud music whipped around him.

“Hey! It’s the man of the hour!” Clint's voice cut through the rest and Steve found himself being pulled into a very familiar hug by someone he only really knew by association. Though when Clint stepped back to let Steve go, it was clear he’d spent most of the game drinking—if his lopsided smile and glazed expression was any indicator. “Good game man. Glad you’re on our side.” Clint gave him a wobbly pat on the shoulder then retreated to go and hug someone else.

“Thanks,” Steve laughed in his wake.

“Oh, wow, he’s more drunk than I thought.” Steve heard Bucky laugh from behind him. He turned to see Bucky glowing in the neon lights of the bar. His hat was in his hand and his hair slightly tousled. When he smiled, Steve melted faster than the snow still clinging to Bucky’s boots. “He’s right though. You were phenomenal out there today.” Bucky stepped into Steve’s space and threaded their hands together in a tight squeeze.

“Really?”

“Really. and,” he leant even closer to whisper above the sounds in the bar. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you being all slicked up.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed pink and he snorted. He felt Bucky grin into his neck, then press a chaste kiss into the junction of his jaw before he pulled away. Steve gripped tight to his hand, preventing Bucky from pulling back too far. For a moment they just smiled at each other, oblivious to the music and conversations that swirled around them—until Steve felt a yawn building and turned away to yawn into the crook of his other arm. It wasn’t even five pm yet, but Steve could happily have crawled into bed and slept until noon on Sunday.

“You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Steve admitted. He’d got through the press conference and post-match debriefing on adrenaline alone. Now he was running on fumes.

“Come on then, I’m taking you home.” Bucky’s tone left no room for argument, but Steve was more than happy to comply. He drained the last of his drink, coughing as it burned the back of his throat, and made a half-hearted attempt of saying his goodbyes. No one questioned why he was leaving early, the rest of his teammates were also starting to flag, and Steve suspected it wouldn’t be long before their plans of staying out for dinner and partying late into the night were forgotten.

Bucky pulled his beanie low over his head whilst Steve zipped his coat up to his chin and flipped up his hood before they battled into the blizzard outside. They didn’t talk much on the walk home, keeping their heads down to avoid a face-full of snow, but Bucky linked his arm through Steve’s elbow and held him close the whole way.

It wasn’t until they stepped into Steve’s empty house and began stomping snow off their boots and shrugging out of their outer layers that Steve noticed Bucky was carrying a backpack.

“What’s in the bag?”

Bucky turned sheepish for the first time since Steve had known him.

“I thought you might want me to stay the night? Before our lazy day tomorrow?”

Steve did want that, more than anything. But, “What about Alpine?”

“My neighbour’s gonna check in on him and feed him.” Bucky smiled, but he still looked a little nervous. “Of course, there’s no pressure. I was hoping—not expecting. I can just as easily go home and come back tomorrow—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss. “Of course, I want you to stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Plus, it's basically a blizzard outside, Buck. I’m not going to send you home in that.”

“You _could_.” Bucky brought a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw and stroked his thumb across Steve’s cheek. “If you change your mind, or I could sleep on the couch.”

“I _want_ you to stay,” Steve insisted. Bucky smiled and Steve leant in to kiss him again before Bucky brought his other hand up to frame Steve’s face, holding Steve back so he could scrutinize him.

“You’re freezing.” His brows knitted together in a frown. 

“Never really warmed up after the game,” Steve admitted with a shrug, feeling wholly unworthy of the loving concern radiating from Bucky’s expression. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You need a warm shower and—have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Something hearty to eat then. How do you feel about chilli? Or pasta?”

“I’m meant to carb load _before_ a game, not after it.” Steve laughed.

“Soup then. There’s a place in town that does the _best_ wonton soup. Why don’t I order some whilst you go take a shower?”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve let his shoulders slump and gave Bucky a lazy smile. It was nice to let Bucky do the thinking for a while. He tried to show Bucky where the kitchen and living room were until Bucky laughed and told him he already knew and started ushering Steve upstairs instead. 

Now that he was home, the last of Steve’s energy fled from him. His legs felt like lead weights as he dragged himself upstairs, leaning heavily on the bannister as he went. He made it to his bedroom and stripped out of his hoodie and shirt, then sat down on his bed to take off his shoes, socks and then didn’t have the energy to stand up again.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky chuckled softly from the doorway. Steve stirred from his doze and realised he’d almost fallen asleep still sitting upright. He yawned into one hand as he dragged the other through his hair.

“I’m awake.”

“Sure, you are.” Bucky just smiled at him, but as he stepped closer, his smile faded. “You didn’t tell me you were injured!”

“What?” Steve glanced down at his torso and the bruises that littered his ribcage, and no doubt covered his shins too. He wore extensive padding under his uniform, but he still managed to pick up bruises after every match. He bruised like a peach and his fair complexion didn’t exactly help.

“Oh, it’s nothing. They’ll fade.” They normally only lasted a day or two. “They’re just bruises.”

Bucky made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Said it myself a few times. A hot shower will help.”

“Hot? I was always told ice.”

“Immediately after impact, ice will stop a bruise from forming,” Bucky agreed. “But hours later, heat works best. C’mon.” He extended a hand to help haul Steve to his feet. Steve went willingly, and when he was stood up he used the opportunity to lean in for a lazy kiss. It was wonderful having Bucky so close and not having to worry about anything for a change. “G’on, shower.” Bucky urged him, but Steve was reluctant to pull away. He was tempted to ask Bucky to join him, he would have done if his courage hadn’t failed him. Instead, he nodded and stepped back, grabbing his towel from the hook on the back of his door.

“I won’t be long.”

“Nah, don’t rush. I’ll wait downstairs, take as long as you need.” Bucky pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek and left before Steve could muster the courage to call him back.

The warmth of the shower did wonders for his tired, aching muscles, and Steve let himself linger as long as he dared, before slipping back to his room. He heard the doorbell ring as he was drying himself off and heard Bucky chatting with the delivery driver, thanking him for braving the snow—and giving him an extra-large tip for his troubles. Steve smiled, full of fondness for Bucky.

He pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants and thick socks, and the softest t-shirt and hoodie he owned before heading downstairs. Bucky was looking through the cupboards for bowls and spoons when Steve found him in the kitchen. He’d changed too, into another pair of patterned leggings and ridiculously fluffy socks, these ones were neon blue and fuzzy.

“Cupboard next to the sink,” Steve instructed.

“Ah.” Bucky opened the correct cupboard, revealing the stack of mismatched bowls he, Sam, Maria, and Sharon had each brought to the house. “Thanks. Which ones are yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.” They’d kept their belongings separate for about a week, before giving up and deciding it was easy just to share everything. “But the big blue ones were mine originally.”

Bucky turned to smile at him and Steve felt unspeakably at peace. Through the kitchen window, snow continued to fall in thick clumps of white that lashed horizontally against the glass. It made the kitchen feel warm and cosy by comparison, and the sight of Bucky, with his blue fuzzy socks and his hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, looked wonderfully domestic.

Bucky pulled two of the big blue bowls down from the cupboard and set about portioning out the food. Steve watched, partly unable to take his eyes off Bucky, partly still too lethargic and sleepy to work out what he should be doing to help.

“Sorry, I’m being so useless.”

“You’re not useless.” Bucky looked up with a funny look on his face. “Furthest thing from it. You spent all afternoon making lightning-quick decisions, playing a physically exhausting sport, it’s no wonder you feel drained.”

Steve didn’t have a reply. Somehow Bucky always knew just what to say to comfort Steve.

“D’you normally eat in here or the dining room?”

“The lounge,” Steve said with a smile.

“Of course, student living. What did I expect?” Bucky laughed in return. “Why do you even have a dining room then?” Bucky asked as he carried the soup bowls through to the living room.

“Studying, mostly.” Steve shrugged. “Makes a nice change from the library sometimes. Or being holed up in my room.”

“You work too hard,” Bucky chastised, in a teasing sort of way.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve decided it was best not to argue.

They settled on the sofa. Bucky curled his legs up underneath him, with a flexibility that Steve could never home to mimic, and stuck a film on the TV. Star Wars, one of the old ones by the looks of things. Steve didn’t pay much attention to it, happy to let it play in the background whilst he slowly worked his way through the soup. It was every bit as warming and comforting as Bucky had promised it would be, like a liquid hug.

“How is it?” Bucky glanced over to check on Steve as they ate. Steve gave a positive hum in response. He must have been more tired than he thought, he could barely find the energy to talk. 

“Good,” he eventually vocalised. “Thanks.”

“Best comfort food there is, and their wontons are always perfect,” Bucky agreed with a smile. “Did I give you enough? Here.” Bucky, who was using chopsticks to eat his soup, deftly picked up a wonton and offered it to Steve.

Steve glanced at it, his hands were full of his own bowl and spoon, and he couldn’t exactly just take it with his fingers. But that didn’t seem to be Bucky’s intention. Instinct was telling Steve to lean forwards and let Bucky feed it to him; an instinct that tugged at him like the lure of a warm bath. Steve didn’t fight it, he let himself sink into the impulse and accepted the wonton with his teeth. He kept his eyes on Bucky as he bit through the soft dough casing and let the flavour of spiced pork flood his mouth.

“Good, aren’t they?” Bucky’s eyes flashed with something indecipherable, still locked unwaveringly on Steve’s.

Steve could only nod. There was something unspeakably intimate about sharing food like that. It sparked something deep inside Steve’s chest that he didn’t understand, and thought better of questioning. When Bucky offered him another a little while later, Steve didn’t resist, opening his mouth willingly and chewing slowly. He was pretty sure that Bucky’s order of soup was exactly the same as his, but somehow the wontons Bucky fed to him tasted infinitely better.

Steve felt sleepy and hazy by the time he’d finished eating, unable to hold back his exhaustion once Bucky had guided the empty bowl out of Steve’s hands and placed it safely on the coffee table. On-screen the trio were trapped in a trash compactor battling a monster that lurked in the water and had always terrified him as a kid, so Steve closed his eyes and let his head fall against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky shuffled around slightly and opened his arm to pull Steve into something that was more of a hug and Steve melted into the solid warmth of Bucky, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and the subtle aroma of his body spray.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he wasn’t exactly surprised to find Bucky gently shaking him awake, or that the blue credits were scrolling up the screen.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly. “Bedtime? Think you can walk upstairs?” He brushed Steve’s hair back from his forehead and planted a gentle kiss on the divot that appeared between Steve’s eyebrows whenever he was remotely confused.

Steve tried to reply but his voice didn’t want to work for some reason, so he nodded and started trying to stand. His legs felt like jelly, but he managed it eventually, blinking around the living room in a daze.

“Wait there, I’ll put the bowls away, then we’ll head up,” Bucky instructed in a gentle tone. Steve didn’t even think to question him, and all of his manners seemed to have evaporated as he let Bucky—a guest—tidy up their bowls and the containers in the kitchen. He didn’t even think to switch the TV off or straighten up the cushions on the couch, both of which Bucky did when he returned to the lounge. He paused before extending his hand to Steve with an affectionate glow in his eyes that made Steve feel like his bones were made of candyfloss.

“C’mon.” Bucky pulled Steve in close before gently shepherding him upstairs.

“Get comfy, I need the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Bucky pressed a kiss against Steve’s jaw and let his hand linger on Steve, stroking from Steve’s palm up to his elbow before he finally pulled away to flick on Steve’s bedside lamp and then pick his way across the room and head down the hall.

Steve heard the extractor fan kick into life as Bucky switched on the bathroom light and it jolted him from his daze. As he glanced around his bedroom he belatedly realised that he should have tried to tidy his room up earlier when Bucky had left him to shower. His bed was unmade, white sheets peeking out from under the lumpy quilted comforter made up in swatches of all different blues and greens. His desk was covered with textbooks stacked haphazardly or resting face down with their spines bent open. His laptop was buried under a pile of scribbled lecture notes and the binder with his game strategy mark-ups was balanced precariously on top. A basket of dirty laundry was overflowing in one corner of the room and clean clothes spilled out from his wardrobe in the other. The chair that he usually ended up stacking his clothes that lingered somewhere between clean and needing to be washed was buried from sight. Free weights poked out from under his bed and stray charging cables snaked across the floor. It had been too long since he’d last vacuumed.

He sat down on the bed with a thump. At least the sheets were clean, he reasoned. But he belatedly realised he should have taken more care to tidy _himself_ up too. He’d showered on autopilot earlier, going through the usual routine, but Bucky wanting to spend the night came with expectations, surely. Expectations which still scared Steve a little. Should he have made more of an effort? Steve didn’t know what Bucky was expecting to happen, and the instruction to ‘get comfy’ was vague and nonspecific. What did Bucky mean? Steve began to panic.

All at once, he felt too warm in his thick layers, having warmed up considerably after being curled up against Bucky on the sofa for so long. Steve pulled his hoodie over his head and wobbled upright to shuck off his joggers and socks, managing not to fall over too much, or at least, making sure he fell back onto the bed at any rate. Once he’d sat, he couldn’t find the energy to stand again. He stared at his knees and the dusting of blonde hair that covered his thighs, and his thoughts began to spiral.

Bucky had said Steve could always kick him out...but he didn’t want Bucky to leave, he just wanted...well, that was half the problem. Steve didn’t know what he wanted. Sometimes it felt like Bucky had a much better understanding of Steve’s wants than he did. 

“Finally warming up?” Bucky asked, pulling Steve back to the present. He was stopped in the doorway, surveying Steve with a smile. Steve had to work his mouth a few times before he managed to make any words come out. 

“Mostly.” He kept his eyes on Bucky who closed the door behind him and switched off the overhead lights. The light in the room shrank to the small circle of soft yellow light spilling from the lamp beside Steve’s bed.

Bucky pulled his hoodie up and over his head in one smooth move and flung it to join Steve’s abandoned clothes on the floor before he stepped up to the bed. He was left in a blank tank top with narrow straps that threaded over the muscles of his arms. The swell of his biceps shone in the lamplight as he reached past Steve to straighten out the sheets and pulled the comforter back. He was so beautiful Steve almost couldn’t _breathe_ looking at him.

“You okay?” Bucky hesitated before climbing into bed, standing before Steve and looking at him with such loving concern. Steve grabbed hold and Bucky’s tank top and pulled him into a kiss. Bucky gave a pleased sounding hum before kissing back, keeping it innocent; all soft, tender lips that fit against Steve’s with such ease. 

“Do you need the bathroom?”

Steve shook his head.

“Okay, well, you should still clean your teeth—yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed in an exhale. They’d eaten, of course, Bucky would want him to clean his teeth before they kissed any more. Bucky’s lips tasted minty fresh in comparison to his own.

Bucky extended a hand to help Steve stand and watched him stagger across the room with an utterly fond expression on his face. It made Steve blush, right down to his neck.

Steve brushed his teeth methodically and swirled mouthwash around his mouth, finding after all of that that he did need to piss after all. He caught sight of his reflection as he washed his hands afterwards. His face looked puffy with sleep and his blonde hair was raked everywhere. Steve half-heartedly dragged his hand through it to flatten out the fluffiness, realising he’d never bothered to put any product earlier; it must have looked ridiculous all evening.

“Beautiful,” Bucky greeted him with a warm smile like Steve had his insecurity written all over his face when he returned. It was a mystery how Bucky always knew just what to say. “Come here.” Bucky was sitting against Steve’s headboard looking like a vision in the soft light. He patted the spot in the bed beside him and drew the comforter up and over Steve when he crawled onto the mattress. Steve settled in beside Bucky and just stared. Tendrils of hair were falling loose from Bucky’s bun, brushing against his shoulders. Backlit by the lamp, the flyaway waves looked golden. Steve’s hand moved up of its own accord to tangle in the soft texture of Bucky’s hair. His fingers threaded through it without ambition, driven by the same instinctual need that had Steve eating from Bucky’s chopsticks earlier.

“I missed you,” Steve said in a small voice. His brain still felt foggy, almost drunk, even though he didn’t remember drinking more than one vodka-whatever-it-was at the bar.

“You were only in the bathroom,” Bucky whispered back, equally hushed.

Steve shook his head. “Since Wednesday.” He had to fight for every word, it felt like his brain was flooded with treacle.

“Me too.” Bucky nosed forwards, brushing the tips of their noses lightly together before he tilted his head for another kiss. Languid and leisurely, like a summer’s afternoon and it filled Steve with the same kind of sun-soaked warmth that made him feel sleepy and content. He curled his hand in Bucky’s hair and pressed himself as close as he could; chest-to-chest, hips and thighs slotted together. There was still too much space between them. Steve thought he finally understood that carnal need to _be_ _with_ someone. The heated desire that made people throw away kingdoms, start wars, and ignore all better judgement. The kind of lust that artists and poets were forever trying to capture. It had never made much sense to him before that moment, but now he had an inkling of it; Steve didn’t think there was much he wouldn’t do for Bucky.

It terrified and excited him in equal measure. But he knew he still wasn’t quite ready to actually go through with it. He pulled away and dropped his gaze, fighting to voice what he needed to say.

“I’m not ready,” he breathed.

“Not ready for what?”

Steve shook his head. He’d said it once, he couldn’t say it again.

“D’you need a glass of water or something before we go to sleep?”

“Sleep?”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed softly but there was nothing teasing in his tone. “What did you think we were doing?”

“Sex.” Steve managed to stutter with a voice that cracked even as he spoke.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. You’re exhausted.” Bucky brushed his hand against Steve’s shoulder, letting the pads of his fingers brush against Steve’s skin just beneath the hem of his sleeve. It sent shivers through him and Steve let himself relax again. “Tonight, I just want to cuddle.”

Steve almost didn’t believe it, though he desperately wanted to. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s expression turned puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I want to cuddle? What’s wrong with cuddling?” Bucky pulled Steve back into his arms, demonstrating his point.

“Nothing.” Steve loved cuddling, but that wasn’t what anyone ever wanted from him. If _he’d_ proposed spending all night doing nothing but holding each other and kissing occasionally, he’d have been laughed right out of bed. Had been, in fact. Steve pushed those unpleasant thoughts from his mind and sunk closer to Bucky, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped in each other's arms. “How are you so perfect?” Steve asked, feeling sleepy again already. When Bucky started tracing circles over his bicep, Steve knew he was fighting a losing battle to stay awake.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, and Steve had nearly fallen asleep by the time he did. When he did answer, there was a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. “I’m not perfect.”

“You are to me.” Steve’s eyelids drooped, feeling heavier than lead.

“Good night, Steve.” Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead and Steve stopped trying to fight the wave of tiredness that washed over him. He let his eyes close and sunk into a deep, deep sleep. 

* * *

**Image** : Sleepy embrace | **Art by** : [kocuria](https://kocuria.tumblr.com)

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Steve felt utterly disorientated when he woke. It was still dark outside, with the sky just beginning to lighten around the edges of his drapes. At a guess, Steve would say it was five forty-five, which didn’t explain why it felt like he'd been asleep for a week. Unless it was _Monday_? Steve had a brief moment of panic before he scrabbled for his phone on the nightstand and verified that it was indeed 5:43 am on Sunday 9th November. He dropped the phone and settled back into the pillow, dragging his hand through his hair.

Beside him, Bucky stirred but didn’t wake. He was lying on his side, facing Steve with one arm propped beneath his head, the other lying draped across Steve’s stomach. When Steve moved, Bucky’s hand twitched and gripped the fabric of Steve’s shirt. Steve smiled and brought his hand to cover Bucky’s and lay staring at him for a while. His hair had fallen loose from the bun and splayed on the pillow around him, and his chest rose and fell with the deep even breaths of someone fast asleep. He’d kicked the covers away from his feet, which were still clad in his thick fuzzy socks, and curved into a graceful point, even in his sleep. There wasn’t much light in the room, but as Steve’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, more and more details came into focus. The way his lips were parted slightly and his eyebrows were arched towards the centre. Once again, Steve found himself wishing he hadn’t given up art. He reached out with his free hand to brush Bucky’s hair back from his face and trailed the side of his finger down the strong line of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky stirred again, chasing Steve’s touch, and giving a sleepy hum this time. He cracked an eye and smiled at Steve, twisting his hand to entwine their fingers together.

“Morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning,” Steve replied. “It’s early.”

“I know.” Bucky rolled onto his back and stretched. “How early?”

“Quarter to six.”

“Ugh,” Bucky made a disgusted sound.

“We don’t have to get up yet.”

“Good. I don’t plan to.” Bucky gave another sleepy stretch before rolling back to face Steve. “How’d you feel this morning?”

“Like I overslept.” Steve gave a huff of laughter. The feeling didn’t make any sense considering how early it was.

“Well we did go to sleep at about nine yesterday, so I’m not surprised. I actually feel refreshed for once.”

“Oh really?”

“You’re still not getting me to go running with you this morning though.”

“No?” In truth, running was the last thing on Steve’s mind. This was meant to be a lazy Sunday after all. He reached for the drapes and lifted them away from the window, craning his neck as much as possible to get a glimpse of the outside world. It was still snowing, softer than it had been yesterday evening, but still too much for Steve to consider running in it. Not when he didn’t have to. “Don’t worry, even I don’t want to go out in that.”

“More cuddling then, good.” Bucky burrowed closer. He snaked both hands around Steve’s waist and snuggled with his head resting on Steve’s chest. It was exactly what Steve had been craving for the past week or so. “How much do you remember from last night?” Bucky asked for a while. He plucked gently at Steve’s shirt and tilted his head back to glance up at him.

“Not a lot,” Steve admitted. He tried to think back but everything felt hazy; like looking through a fog, almost like he’d been drunk. He couldn’t have been though, he’d hardly drunk anything at the bar, and he didn’t feel hungover. “Must have been more tired than I thought.”

“Wasn’t just exhaustion, I don’t think,” Bucky said slowly, almost hesitantly, which was so unlike him. “You went all floaty on me.”

“Yeah.” That was the perfect word to describe the sweet, weightlessness Steve had felt. Like his mind had been untethered and he could just drift freely without having to think about anything. “It was nice, I’ll have to order that soup more often.”

“It wasn’t the soup, either…” Bucky did hesitate then. Steve knew it wasn’t. He knew it was Bucky, but he just didn’t know _why_.

“What _was_ it?”

“It almost looked like subspace,” Bucky said slowly.

Steve frowned. “What’s that?”

“Well,” Bucky started slowly. “It’s like a mental state, like a natural high.” Bucky was obviously picking his words very carefully. “It only happens when you really trust the person you’re with. You trust them to be in charge for a while and everything else falls away. You, um,”

“Float.” Steve supplied. “It was like my head was in the clouds.”

“Yeah,” Bucky exhaled his agreement, sounding nervous.

“I liked it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s expression looked relieved, and Steve knew there was something he wasn’t quite understanding. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to probe at, but he’d never been very good at letting things lie.

“When you say _sub_ space, do you mean like subconscious, or?” Steve had an inkling it meant the other thing, but he was scared to voice it out loud in case he was wrong.

“Submissive,” Bucky confirmed.

“Oh.” Steve’s first instinct was to rebel against the idea. “You think I’m submissive?”

“When it comes to intimacy, yeah, I think you might be.” Bucky kept his hand splayed across Steve’s stomach, but shuffled around so they were facing each other eye to eye. “It’s nothing to be scared of,” he was quick to add. “Or ashamed of. It doesn’t mean weak.”

Steve stared at Bucky. “It does. Literally.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not in this context. Not to me. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Steve. Mentally and physically.”

He couldn’t deny that Bucky’s description matched that lovely dreamy feeling he’d enjoyed last night. But he’d never considered himself a very submissive person, he’d been called hot-headed in his youth. He went picking fights and looking for arguments. He never backed down from a debate in class. Didn’t that make him the furthest thing from ‘submissive’?

“What does it mean, then?” he asked, staring intently at Bucky. Dawn was gradually approaching outside, brightening the room by degrees and it washed across Bucky in a faint blue glow. He still looked hesitant, which was so unlike him. He normally looked so calm and in control, and, well, dominant, Steve supposed. That’s how the pairing went, wasn’t it?

“It’s about trust,” Bucky said slowly. “Trusting your partner with your pleasure and letting them take control. And it takes a great deal of strength to let go like that. There’s a beauty in it.”

“But I hate being told what to do. I’m stubborn to a fault. I have to be in charge,” Steve protested. It wasn’t that he disagreed, he just didn’t understand. His position, his career, was centred around being the one in control. It’s why he’d hated Phillips making the decision to cancel his lessons, why he was determined to finish his degree properly even when everyone told him not to bother. 

“In other aspects of your life, I don’t doubt that’s true.” Bucky’s mouth twisted into a smile. Then his voice dropped and he reached for Steve’s hands. “Did you feel in charge yesterday?” he asked in a soft voice. Steve frowned and thought back.

“No. You were,” he realised, recalling how he’d floundered in the living room without Bucky to direct him, how even the vague instruction to ‘get comfy’ had left him doubting himself. Bucky had been completely in charge and Steve had been along the ride. But unlike other situations where Steve found himself fighting for control, or feeling like it had to take the lead—it had been freeing. Calming. Like trusting someone else to drive and getting to drift in the passenger seat as the scenery passed by.

“And was that okay?” Bucky still looked scared. “We don’t ever have to do it again if it wasn’t. I didn’t exactly mean for yesterday to happen like it did. I didn’t expect that hand feeding would drop you so deep. I would have talked about it with you first—" Steve squeezed Bucky’s hands and cut him off with a kiss—closed mouth to save them both from morning breath.

“I liked it,” he assured Bucky. “I don’t know if I’d like it with anyone else, and it scares me a little—maybe a lot—but I liked yesterday.”

“Really?” Relieved wasn’t enough to describe the look of pure joy that spread across Bucky’s face. “We’ll take it slow, just like everything else, and I won’t ever, ever force you into doing something you don’t want to do, Steve.”

“I know.” Steve wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and kissed him again. Properly this time, letting his tongue slide across Bucky’s lips—morning breath be damned—drinking him with a tender sort of desperation. He’d been worried up until now, Steve realised with hindsight. He’d been waiting for Bucky to change his mind and demand they go faster. But after yesterday, Steve was certain Bucky’s promises to go slow were a hundred percent genuine. He knew he could trust him like he’d longed to from the beginning; it was a freeing revelation. 

Steve’s desperation faded the longer they kissed, he let himself just melt beneath Bucky, kissing long and slow as the sun rose behind them. Pale wintery light seeped through Steve’s thin drapes until the room was awash with daylight. Steve still didn’t really know what it meant to be ‘submissive’, or what that would mean for their relationship, but as Bucky kissed him into the pillows, Steve was content to ignore that problem for a while longer. He was content to ignore everything except the feel of Bucky’s lips against his.

Eventually, Steve could no longer ignore the fact that he needed to piss, and he very reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. Cleaning his teeth and splashing cold water on his face to wake himself up afterwards. Bucky was waiting for him on the landing when he was done and leant to give Steve a peck on the cheek before he slipped in after him and closed the door. Such a simple thing shouldn’t have filled Steve with butterflies, but it was so familiar, it made Steve’s heart sing.

He glanced down the stairs of the way back to his bedroom and saw dishevelled piles of coats and boots that indicated Sam, Sharon, and Maria had all come home at some point during the night. Very drunk, but the look of the shambles. Steve smiled as slipped back into his bedroom, wondering how on earth he’d managed to sleep through that racket. He stopped in the centre of his room to crack his back and stretch out his limbs, wondering what to do with himself. He still felt sluggish with sleep, and ordinarily now would be the time he headed out for a run or hit the gym in the training centre. But when drew back the drapes and peered out across the snow-strewn street, Steve decided the outside world didn’t look very appealing.

“Looks miserable out.” Bucky echoed Steve’s sentiments as he stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. He propped his chin on Steve’s shoulder and Steve let himself lean back against him.

“I dunno, might be fun to go build a snowman or something.”

“I haven’t built a snowman in _years_.” Bucky laughed. “Breakfast first though. I’ve messed your diet up enough recently, so what do you usually eat on Sundays?”

“Oatmeal, bananas, and blueberries, normally.”

“Okay.” Bucky pulled back, pausing to plant a kiss on the side of Steve’s neck. “I think I can rustle that up.”

“Buck.” Steve spun to catch his arm. “You really don’t have to.”

“But I _want_ to.” Bucky’s eyes were wide and his expression was hopeful. “Will you let me?”

“I can take care of myself.” Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I know, and I’m not suggesting you can’t. I just want to…”

“Dote on me,” Steve said, repeating the word Bucky had used before and which had stuck with Steve.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s my love language,” Bucky shrugged. “I wanna do stuff for you, not because you can’t, but because I can. Because you let me.”

“Is this part of letting go? of,” Steve still had difficulty saying the word, “submitting to you?”

“Little bit.”

“If I say no? Will you put your foot down?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t think I want that.”

“Then I won’t,” Bucky said, easy as pie, still smiling even though Steve had denied him something he clearly wanted. Steve still had hold of Bucky’s hand, so they were left facing each other in the middle of Steve’s bedroom with Steve unable to bring himself to let go. “We _should_ eat breakfast though,” Bucky continued in a quieter voice. Another long moment passed with them just staring at each other whilst Steve tried to grapple with what he wanted.

He’d always hated being looked after. When he was younger, and ill a lot as a child, he’d hated the feeling of being coddled. He knew this wasn’t the same, but his knee-jerk reaction to reject Bucky’s help stemmed from that feeling of helplessness.

“I won’t sit up here…feeling useless whilst you cook me breakfast,” he said, hesitantly.

“It’s alright Steve, I’m not going to push for this—”

“But,” he swallowed. “If you really want to, then I guess I come sit in the kitchen and…help?”

“Of course, you can.” Bucky used Steve’s grip on his hand to pull Steve in for a kiss and brushed their noses together before pulling back with a smile that radiated joy. It shouldn’t have made Steve feel so giddy just to see Bucky smile. “Let’s go.”

Steve pulled some pants on over his boxers and grabbed his phone before following Bucky downstairs. 

The house felt dark and quiet. Through the kitchen window, the backyard looked grey and still. Thick snow was piled on their cheap patio furniture and the old broken grill Sam had found for them when they first moved in. Steve sat himself upon the worktop and hooked his ankles together, directing Bucky where to find what he needed, and then just watching him cook. Bucky moved about the kitchen with the same fluidity that he commanded in the dance studio. Sashaying between the stove and the worktop, and periodically side-tracking to where Steve was sitting to give him fleeting kisses too; his nose, his cheek, his forehead, anywhere but his mouth. It made Steve laugh every time. By the time Bucky was dishing out two bowls artfully topped with blueberries and slices of banana, Steve had decided he could maybe make an allowance for Bucky to dote on him whenever he wanted to.

They ate in the dining room that time, sitting across from each other with their legs tangled under the table and they talked. The dining room had large French windows that looked out over the small yard and the snow that continued to fall in soft flurries. Steve focused on the snow falling in lazy circles as he forced himself to ask the questions that scared him. Questions about what the new ‘dynamic’—as Bucky called it—would mean, what it would involve. More importantly, what it wouldn’t. Steve wasn’t _completely_ naïve, he’d heard of BDSM, but he’d thought it usually involved tying people up and hurting them. Thankfully, Bucky was quick to disabuse him on those notions.

“That’s sadomasochism, a whole different side of things that I’m not interested in. I never want to hurt you, Steve,” Bucky reassured him. “Besides, we both put up with too much pain already. Professional sport and ballet are basically a form of masochism.” He arched an eyebrow and Steve nodded, relieved. 

He was surprised by how appealing the rest of it sounded, though, and how much he recognised from how their relationship had developed so far. Letting Bucky hand feed him, maybe wash his hair, letting him slowly take Steve apart with pleasure and clearly spelling out what Steve should do in return? It sounded like everything Steve didn’t know he’d been missing in a relationship. 

But…

“If we’re going to do this, I’d like to be dating properly,” Steve said slowly. He nudged Bucky’s foot with his own, feeling the soft fluff of his socks tickle his own bare skin. Bucky nodded, flexing his foot against Steve’s and dragging it up Steve’s ankle to it brushed under the hem of his sweatpants. 

“That’s understandable,” he said with a smile, but Steve thought he looked a little deflated. “So, January?” Bucky asked, enduringly patient as ever.

“No, no, I mean,” Steve hesitated and pulled back. He dragged a hand through his hair, hoping he wasn’t being too selfish with what he was about to ask. “I know I said I wanted to wait, and I’m still not ready to come out publicly, so we’d have to be discrete, but…but I want to see you more than just on Tuesdays and the odd lunch or weekend. I want…” Steve glanced up at Bucky and was momentarily distracted by just how beautiful he looked, all sleep dishevelled still with an adoring look on his face. A look Steve was quite certain he didn’t deserve. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s smile brightened like a sunrise. “Well you’re in luck, ‘cause I wanna be your boyfriend too. If you’re sure?”

“Are _you_ sure you don’t mind having to keep it secret?” Steve countered.

“I already told you I don’t. I understand, Steve, I really do. It’s your career on the line, it shouldn’t be, but until the NFL stops being so homophobic—then I get it.” He reached out to clasp Steve’s hand and then pushed himself up out of his chair and arched across the table to kiss Steve. It was a little clumsy with the angle, and Bucky pulled away far too soon, but it was wonderful all the same. “Though, can I ask, why the change of heart?”

“I’m not allowed to change my mind?” Steve deflected.

“Of course, you can. I just want to make sure it’s not…not because you feel you have to? Not because of everything we’ve discussed this morning?”

Steve shook his head and squeezed Bucky’s hand that was still clutched around his own. “I promise it’s not.” Bucky nodded, but he still looked concerned. “I really like you, Buck,” Steve started to explain, wondering how much he wanted to admit out loud. He was starting to think he might even love Bucky, but he wasn’t prepared to voice that just quite yet. “And we’re already practically dating, you said so yourself. Waiting doesn’t make sense anymore. Honestly? I thought you’d get bored of waiting for me before January, before we had a chance to start anything, and then when the ballet was done and we had to part ways, it wouldn’t matter so much.”

“Who said anything about parting ways?” Bucky frowned.

“I’m entering the draft next year,” Steve reminded Bucky. “I might get sent half away across the country.”

“But the draft’s not ‘til May—”

“April.”

“—it’s ages away,” Bucky continued.

Steve gave a sad smile. From where they were sitting in November, April 30th felt like a world away, but Steve knew it would be upon them all too soon. It hadn’t mattered so much before, not when they only just knew each other. But it was starting to matter now, and Steve was starting to realise he didn’t want to waste a second of the time he did have with Bucky.

“And, hey, who knows. You might get drafted somewhere local.” Bucky smiled, hopeful and optimistic. “Is there anywhere you’d _like_ to go?”

Steve kept his expression tight-lipped. “I try not to have opinions. I don’t get a choice. I’ll just be happy if I get picked to play anywhere.” Which was mostly true. He’d grown up a staunch Giants fan and he wasn’t sure he could stomach getting drafted to the Jets. But. At least he’d be living close to home, so perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the matter. “But you’re right. That’s ages away.”

“No use worrying about it now.” Bucky agreed. “Far more pressing matters to concern ourselves with.”

“Oh, yeah? What are those?” Steve asked, letting himself smile again.

“More coffee for one thing. It’s not even 8 am and already, I’m flagging. This is why I don’t wake up before 10 on the weekends.” Bucky looked mock-annoyed whilst Steve just laughed at him. “Then, how do we want to spend our day doing nothing?”

“Whatever we want.”

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

Steve hadn’t been sure what to expect when he’d invited Bucky over for a lazy day, or how he’d get on with his housemates. The knowledge that Steve was bi was very different from seeing him lying on the sofa with his arms wrapped around his boyfriend after all. But, as it turned out, Steve had nothing to worry about. Sharon and Maria had both already taken a liking to Bucky at the dance social, and Sam immediately struck up a teasing rapport with him that let Steve know Sam heartily approved.

Sharon and Maria disappeared mid-morning to join a giant snowball-fight-sledding-extravaganza gearing up on the campus quad, which Sam and Steve had to reluctantly decline to join. It would be stupid if they went and injured themselves messing around in the snow, and if things got too out of hand the coaches would throw a fit. Instead, they whiled away the morning playing Madden whilst Bucky watched on, bemused.

“Let me get this straight, you relax on your day off from playing football…by playing a _video game_ about football?”

“Oh, and we _watch_ football too.” Sam chuckled.

“Do you never get bored of it?” Bucky sounded a little exasperated.

Sam and Steve shared a look before chorusing a loud, “nope!”

They did venture out to build a snowman in the safe confines of their backyard before lunch and, Steve demonstrated why challenging a quarterback to a snowball fight _wasn’t_ a good idea, by pelting the pair of them with icy snowballs, before they all started to shiver and headed back inside to catch the Giants kicking off against the Seahawks.

Their sofa wasn’t the biggest, so Steve sat himself on the floor to stop Sam from feeling crowded. He braced his back against the sofa in between Bucky’s legs and enjoyed letting his head rest against Bucky’s knee—when he wasn’t agitatedly criticising the Giant’s game plan. Bucky laughed at him whenever he did and started absently carding his hand through Steve’s hair at some point during the second quarter. Steve didn’t like to admit how much he loved the pleasant shivers it sent down his spine. It was probably the best day off Steve had enjoyed for a long time.

He was very reluctant to let Bucky go home once the game had wrapped up that evening, but he knew Bucky had to get home to feed Alpine, and Steve had an early start that wouldn’t make it worth Bucky staying over again. “I need my beauty sleep!” Bucky had protested with a laugh and Steve’s attempts to convince him he was already plenty beautiful enough were good-naturedly shot down.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” Bucky promised. “And, if you want—you could always come back to mine after? Bring your kit so you can go straight to practise Wednesday morning?”

“It’s a date.” Steve smiled and pulled Bucky in for a fierce kiss goodbye. He drew it out for as long as he could before Bucky protested that he really did have to get home. Even then, Steve lingered on the doorstep, watching Bucky pick his way carefully down the sidewalk. When Sam shouted through from the lounge, complaining he was letting in the cold, Steve forced himself to push the door closed and padded back through to the lounge. He dropped himself on the sofa with a thump and a deep sigh.

“So, what do you think?” he dared to ask Sam, dragging a hand through his hair and telling himself it was ridiculous to miss Bucky already. 

“I think you're smitten.” Sam laughed.

Steve groaned and tilted his head back to lean against the back of the sofa. He couldn’t deny it, though. He was falling head over for heels for Bucky, had been since the first moment Steve had walked into the ballet studio.

“But so’s he,” Sam added. “So, you’re good. And he seems like a good guy. I guess I approve.”

Steve huffed a laugh, not wanting to betray how much Sam’s approval actually meant to him. Again, it was one thing to be out in abstract, another to actually have a boyfriend. “Thanks.”

“Plus, he managed to make you switch off and actually relax for a whole day which is, like, a miracle. So yeah, he can stick around.”

Thinking back, it _was_ a little miraculous. Steve hadn’t even been for a run or appropriated the dining room for some stress yoga, and somehow, he hadn’t felt antsy or restless all day. He hadn’t even felt guilty for not cracking open a textbook or getting started on his next essay. Steve didn’t know how much of that was just Bucky, or how much was to do with the submissive side of him that Bucky seemed to have unlocked. He didn’t know if the two were inseparable. All he knew was that he was so thankful to have ended up with Bucky in his life, and that next Tuesday’s ballet session couldn’t come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d/s elements in this chapter: Bucky looks after Steve when he's exhausted post match and accidentally drops Steve into a subspace-like headspace after handfeeding him with chopsticks. They talk about it in the morning and have a healthy conversation about the myths and truths of being submissive, and decide it's something they want to explore going forwards.
> 
> ══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════
> 
> This story has run away from me, what a suprise.... I no longer think it's going to be wrapped up in a a few chapters, in fact with everything I have planned, I may end up writing a sequel to this as well....🙈🙈🙈 It's going to be mostly fluff, but there will be naturally be some angst wrapped up around the draft process, but I'll given fair warning for that later on 😉
> 
> Also! I realised I never bothered to give the college team a name, because this was only meant to be a one shot. But I've decided they're at the fictional 'SSR University', the football team are the Falcons, who play in blue with a howling commando style wing logo and have Red Wing as their mascot 😉. (I might go back and edit references into the story earlier on). Also, I haven't made it completely clear, but I'm picturing them somewhere in the midwest, in a fictional version of the Big Ten Conference.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and feedback! I hope I haven't messed up their dynamic by going down this route, comments would be much appreciated! 💙💙💙💙

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated! Come and find me on [Tumblr](https://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/astrobucky) to talk headcanons 😊

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Call to Motion - fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920054) by [kocuria-visuals (kocuria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria-visuals)




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